Silent Hill : House of Flies
by DannyFromNewOrleans
Summary: A number of different people get lost in Silent Hill and face the darkness that lurks in their minds. Among them is freezing Mr. Kane, who is called to silent purgatory [In other words, this is a complete rip-off of Silent Hill 2. All characters are my own, but still clearly influenced by cast of SH2].
1. Prologue

_"Nathan."_

 _"Hi, it's Karen. Is it bad time to talk?"_

 _"...no, it's fine. I'll just pull over."_

 _"Can I ask where you are? It seems you didn't tell anyone you left."_

 _"I didn't. It was easier this way."_

 _"So...are you okay? Is there...well, you knew I would get worried, and now I am worried. I want to help if I can. You want to talk?"_

 _"No, not really."_

 _"Okay. But if you want to, I'm ready to listen."_

 _"Sounds to me it's you who wants to talk. If that is the case, I'm going to return the favor."_

 _"..."_

 _"We can talk once I get back."_

 _"...heh, okay. But may I ask again where you are? I don't want to bother you but it would help to know a bit more."_

 _"I have to check something...but I don't have an exact plan. You could say I'm just exploring new places."_

 _"Hmh. Exciting."_

 _"I don't really need excitement right now – or ever. It's...distracting."_

 _"Would you prefer boredom?"_

 _"I would – or peacefulness."_

 _"Well once you get back we could do something really boring and dragging together, okay? So you don't go insane from all the..."_

 _"..."_

 _"Sorry...I have a problem with my...verbal skills."_

 _"Not going insane just yet – you should know me better. But once I get back, we can go on the most boring date possible. No strong emotions."_

 _"...really? That's...yeah, sure. We can do that."_

 _"I'll be..."_

 _"Hm?"_

 _"I'll be back in couple of weeks."_


	2. Cloverfield

Michael felt sick.

He opened his eyes, leaned forward and rubbed his forehead. The smell was horrifying – after five seconds it had reached the level of being mildly disgusting – after ten seconds it was gone again. Michael looked around, lazily caressing the golden ring on his ring finger while trying to locate his cell phone. Turned out it was resting on the table right in front of the sofa, on which he was sitting – on which he _had been_ sitting for who knows how many hours.

Michael stood up and walked around with sluggish movements, feeling tired and still a bit nauseous. His apartment was quite small, so there wasn't much space to walk around in: just the living room, kitchen, bedroom and bathroom. Michael's path consisted of warped circles and ellipses, twisted and elongated by continuous mappings, until he finally reached a simple conclusion: he had to leave. He had decided (many hours ago) to start driving, but he also had postponed the practical aspects of this decision again and again. Now it felt like an optimal moment to start moving, and get as far as possible. Far away from the stench.

Michael went through his pockets while walking around, yet he couldn't find his keys – once again, he had just scattered them somewhere without thinking. They weren't in the drawer, nor inside the sofa. Not in the kitchen or the bedroom either, so they had to be in the bathroom. Michael entered the small room covered with white and deep blue tiles. There was a toilet in the corner, a bathtub hidden behind a blue curtain, small table next to said tub, and a wooden cabinet with mirror-covered doors.

Michael opened the cabinet – his keys were lying on the top shelf. It was unclear to him how they had ended up there, but he wasn't surprised either. He picked them up and looked around, wondering if he had forgotten something else. He stared at the small table, with a folded piece of paper resting on it. Michael stood there for a while, thinking about nothing. He turned around and grabbed the door handle, yet suddenly decided to pick up the paper and place it inside his wallet.

Michael returned to the living room and checked his phone: it was a bit over 10 in the evening. Even so, the living room's windows were pitch-black, as late autumn had already taken the sun away. Michael didn't mind the darkness – quite the contrary, since he wanted to be as alone as possible. He took his beige jacket from the stand and stuffed various important items inside the pockets: phone, wallet, keys...and that was about it; there was no need to take useless items on the road. Michael stood still for a while, staring at the red carpet and rubbing his hands together. Eventually he made it to the door and stepped into the corridor.

The interior of the apartment building was shaped like the letter _H_ : two long corridors, plus a shorter one connecting them around the midpoints. Michael's apartment, number 48, was in the fourth floor, so he had to take the stairs (elevator didn't work for whatever reason). While walking, he wondered how many of his neighbours were already asleep – it was really quiet. All he could hear was a distant, extremely faint humming, whose source was unclear.

Michael listened to the echoes of his steps as he descended the staircase. He reached the first floor and inspected a green bulletin board – couple of paper sheets were attached on it, but none of them seemed interesting. There was also a matrix of metallic mailboxes hanging next to the front door – Michael's sight jumped from name tag to another, until he reached the one stating _Kane_. He pushed the lid open, noticing some kind of brochure lying inside. He had no use for an advertisement, so he ignored it and opened the front door. Michael got slightly puzzled for a moment, since the door wasn't locked – seemed like the door closer hadn't done its job properly.

* * *

It was cold outside – Michael followed the water vapors dancing in front of his face. He stepped on the narrow driveway, which was bordered by a high concrete wall and the apartment building itself. On Michael's right the driveway connected to the main road; on his left it led to the parking lot. That's where his car was parked, but he chose the opposite direction in order to investigate something peculiar – a white van was left on the driveway, blocking it completely. The engine was running, but there was no sign of the driver. It seemed like he had been about to back the van inside an alleyway, but forgot to do the actual backing.

Michael left as the engine's fumes made him sick again. He decided to worry about the van later – he had to pick up his own car first. Therefore, he started walking towards the parking lot and inspecting his environment by looking around: some ornamental trees were standing behind the concrete wall. Their long partially leafless branches stuck through the black veil, making their appearance unnatural.

Michael passed two other vehicles left in the middle of the parking lot (he did wonder why there weren't more of them) until reaching his own car – a dim blue Mazda 626 GB. It was old, but he had taken precise care of it. Michael stepped inside and turned on the engine – it took a minute or so to get used to the low-pitched rumbling. He sat there for a moment, staring at the bright little lights glittering in the dashboard. Since he didn't have a plan, he decided to just drive away – direction wasn't important. Even so, he did make one decision beforehand: turning right at the end of the driveway.

Michael drove between the apartment building and the wall, puzzled to see the van already gone. He passed the alleyway, and the lightless husk of the van placed neatly inside it – pretty much perfect timing. He took a right at the connection and started following the main street. Orange glow of the street lamps created a pulsating light show – Michael felt almost peaceful. He looked at the tall buildings around him, whose windows were mostly black – it seemed like people had gone sleeping rather early.

Michael reached a crossroads. On his right, there was a light green sign with name _Cloverfield Avenue_ written on it. He sighed and took the turn left.


	3. Road

It was raining.

Michal had been driving for too many hours – he felt tired. It was just past midnight; pitch-black and wet. Nothing but thick forest surrounded the road – trees created scarred, black walls around it. Michael had gotten dangerously used to following the yellow line segments diving under his car, one after another. He could have probably killed himself by falling asleep, yet maybe he wouldn't have even noticed a difference – not the worst way to go.

The smooth damped sound of rain made him all the more sleepy, so he turned on the radio to get some mental exercise. He heard music and some kind of talk show – maybe something else too, but everything sounded either like music or monotone speech. Since the melodies were way too relaxing, Michael chose the talk show in order to stay awake. Apparently the host and his guest were talking about math.

" _...with it. So assume that A, B and C are positive integers. We also assume that N is a positive integer greater than two – in other words, N is at least three. Now, the following is true: C to the power of N does not equal the sum A to the power of N plus B to the power of N._ "

" _...oh, so it's impossible? Didn't expect that._ "

" _Indeed – instead of an equality, this problem has a bit more rare inequality. Or rather, the problem states what can not be. These types of problems tend to be really hard to solve._ "

 _"So how hard is this one?_ "

 _"Well, if you have two months to spare, we could go through the proof..._ "

Michael squinted his eyes – radio helped a bit, but not enough; he needed coffee. He had passed some billboards before entering the thicker part of the forest, and if his memory served, there was supposed to be a diner along the road. It was a bit hard to believe, since the area seemed very secluded: Michael hadn't seen any signs of life in several hours. Then again, it was possible that people working with practical logistics kept the business viable enough.

Time passed slowly; Michael stared past the windshield wipers, wondering if he would ever reach another crossroads. He had taken a glance at a map of the region – there was supposed to be a city nearby, but it was possible he had missed an important turn at some point. After a steep downhill he saw distant glittering of light – orange, warm shine got filtered through the trees. Soon Michael found its source: a diner, standing next to its small parking lot in the middle of nowhere. Its brightness created strong, even dream-like contrast for the black rainy night. Michael turned on the parking lot and got surprised: a jeep was standing in the middle of it – seemed like he hadn't been driving completely alone.

Michael parked the car and stepped out – clean air smelled heavenly, but the rain drops felt freezing on his neck. He hurried to the diner's front door and pulled it open, enjoying the instant scent of coffee and pastry. The interior was coloured with calming shades of brown, gray and white. There were some paintings hanging on the ceiling, depicting urban landscapes bathing in the light of setting sun. One of the paintings was different, since it presented a forest shrouded in fog. A white name tag was placed under the painting: _J. Coeman_ _\- Misty,_ it stated.

There was no one else present – not even a clerk. Michael fiddled his wallet until a young woman appeared behind the counter. She was wearing a red T-shirt and black jeans; her long dark hair formed a ponytail.

"Evening, sir. How may I help you?" the woman asked – she almost sang as she talked.

"Coffee" Michael said tiredly.

"That'll be one fifty."

Michael gave the woman two dollar bills.

"Keep the change", he said, and picked up a paper cup.

"Thank you sir. Enjoy your coffee" the woman responded and disappeared behind a gray door. Michael filled the cup with black coffee, added some cream and sat at the closest table with a window right next to it. He stared at the glass pane – at the darkness outside, the veins of water running on the outer surface, and his own face. None of these sights was too pleasant, so Michael paid attention to the coffee – the strong taste was surprisingly good.

Door opened – not the front door, but the one leading to the diner's rest room. A man wearing an olive green rain coat stepped out and started walking along the aisle. He seemed middle-aged; his hair was gray and his expression tired. Michael wasn't too interested in analyzing this stranger, but still a _bit_ interested – if only for the fact that this man was travelling in the middle of the night as well. The man stopped next to Michael's table and turned towards him.

"Excuse me…I need some instructions."

His voice was quite low; there was weird strength behind it. This would have been hard to expect based on his looks alone.

"Do you happen to have a map with you?"

"…I do" Michael said bluntly. He did own a large map of the area, which he had stored in his jacket's roomy inside pocket.

"May I..." the man started yet didn't finish this request, as Michael pulled the map out and set it on the table in front of him.

"Ah, thank you" he said and started folding the paper. Michael stared at him, wondering where the man was headed. It did seem like this stranger understood his luck: in the middle of the night, the only other customer at the diner had been able to help him.

"I'm sorry, but do you know where are at the moment?" the man asked. Michael set his finger on the map and pointed at a road diving in the forest.

"This road" he said.

"I see...yes, very good" replied the man – though it sounded like he was talking to himself. He started moving his lips without making any sounds.

"Good…yes…" the man said. He sounded a bit relieved.

"I can't thank you enough. Thought I'd get lost in the night..."

The man seemed to wait for some kind of response from Michael, but it never arrived.

"I'll leave you alone now. Once again, thank you."

Michael tasted his coffee.

"Keep the map" he said. The man stared at him for couple of seconds.

"Really? You don't need it?"

"No."

"You know where to go."

Michael nodded. The stranger was naturally puzzled by his quiet courtesy.

"Well...I'm very happy to take your offer…thank you. I really appreciate this."

Michael stayed quiet as the man walked to the door and stepped in the rain – he seemed to be in a hurry. Michael followed his bowed character until it reached the jeep. A set of bright lights flashed and got lost in the darkness as the man drove away. It could have been interesting to learn more about this stranger – after all, he and the clerk were the first people Michael had talked to in a very long time.

Michael kept drinking his coffee and staring at the various surfaces around him. It was a bit boring, so his interest was caught by a newspaper lying on the neighbouring table. He picked it up and read the biggest headline: _Meyer house burns down – two dead_. The article described an accidental fire, presumably caused by negligent use of candles. It was a bit bleak to learn about other people's problems, but also enjoyable – in the most subtle way. Michael kept reading the paper for a while until he was satisfied. He returned it on the table, noticing a small object on the opposite bench – some kind of plastic-looking item was lying there.

Michael picked up a small, rectangular photo, which depicted a young boy, maybe 10 years old. He was standing in sunlight, leaning against a metallic railing and squinting his eyes. Behind him, there were steep hills covered in trees – it seemed like the picture had been taken during summer time. In general, Michael didn't find the photo significant, but he did get a bit interested: had someone just forgotten the picture, or was it left there on purpose? Michael turned the photo around, revealing a short sentence written on the back:

 _Leo_

 _I'm always too late_

Michael read the text couple of times, being very aware of his obvious inability to understand the meaning behind it. This didn't really bother him, but it did add to his quiet interest: he took out his wallet, slipped the picture inside it and returned to his table.

Michael drank rest of his coffee, and decided to get another cup.

* * *

It was still raining.

Michael was back on the road, following the yellow line segments, listening to the talk show (God forbid, they were still talking about the math problems) and enjoying the low, muffled roar of the weather. Forest got pulled a tiny bit further away from the road, but the night just got darker.

Michael passed a sudden turn left, and got interested: he was quite tired of driving along the same road, so he considered turning the car around. While considering, he had to lower his speed as a set of bright yellow lights appeared in front of him. There was a row of traffic cones prohibiting further progress. A white van was parked behind them – as Michael stopped his car, a man wearing reflective vest stepped out of the van and walked to him. Michael rolled down the door's windshield and got almost startled by the rain's wet yelling.

"Good evening, sir!" the man shouted over the weather.

"We are repairing the bridge behind the turn – it's out of use for now. There is a turn north right behind you. Take it, and after couple of miles you will find another turn – it will lead you back to this road. You understand?"

Michael nodded.

"Drive safe!" the man said and started walking back to the van. It was a bit surprising altogether: as soon as Michael finally found a turn, he was forced to take it. He turned the car around and backtracked to the crossroads. The new road led uphill; forest got a bit thicker.

Time passed slowly; Michael stared past the windshield wipers, wondering if he would ever reach the alleged turn. Was it possible he had just missed it? It was dark and so on, but he still had some faith in his own senses. He kept driving, passing some high rock formations. The talk show had already ended – it was replaced by smooth music, which made Michael a bit sleepy again. He changed the channel, and got startled – radio's output turned into distorted mess; a chaotic collection of broken sounds. Michael turned the whole thing off, as it gave him headache. He started breathing heavily; the car had become way too warm.

Michael squinted his eyes, as a faint touch of nausea hit him. It was clearly too dangerous to keep driving in such ill condition, so he decided to find a suitable parking place – this was difficult, since the road had become a narrow path between high cliffs and a deep valley. Michael heard his phone ringing, but didn't have time to answer the call – his car was suddenly pulled to left with violent, metallic howling. He hit the brakes as one of the headlights bumped against a large stone – the glass got shattered, yet the light was left on. Michael uttered strong curses and swiped cold sweat from his forehead. He took a flashlight out of the glove compartment and stepped outside.

Turned out that a curved piece of scrap metal was buried inside the left tire – the whole thing was torn open. Michael took out his phone in order to call help, but there was no field. He checked the call list, but it was empty – despite the phone ringing a moment ago. He looked around for a while, which was rather pointless because of the darkness. The situation seemed quite desperate – yet somewhat luckily, the car had gotten stopped next to the road; on a small area without pavement, so at least no one would crash into it. It was possible that some other driver would appear and save Michael's night, yet it was also unlikely due to the nighttime. He saw only one option: sleeping. It was a good option too, since he still felt sick. Therefore, Michael went back inside, turned off the engine and closed his eyes. He fell asleep in mere minutes while listening to the rain's humming.


	4. Town

Michael woke up.

He rubbed his eyes and checked the phone – it was about 10 in the morning. Dim, white light had filled the car and taken a bit of colour out of every surface. Michael was still partially asleep, so he couldn't fully comprehend what he was looking at: _fog_. The car was surrounded by a thick cloud of white, faintly glittering mist. It did make some sense: now that the darkness wasn't a problem, fog was – how fitting.

He stepped outside and smelled the cold air. It wasn't really freezing, but the temperature had clearly dropped during the night. There were tiny snowflakes flying among the mist, reflecting and guiding sunlight inside it. But where had all the fog come from? Michael wondered if there was a lake nearby, but he didn't have a map of the area – not anymore, that is. In addition, there was still no field, so calling for help wasn't an option. The tire was still punctured (it hadn't gotten fixed by itself), so once again Michael saw only one option: walking. He decided to return to the bridge and ask help from the construction workers.

Michael zipped his jacket, opened the trunk and reached inside a wine red sports bag. He took out a gray cap and pulled it over his head – at least he wouldn't die from hypothermia, so then his remaining ways to go would have been starvation and wild animals. Despite the hopeless situation, he wasn't really worried: he actually enjoyed walking in cold weather. Michael followed the side of the road while listening to the sounds of his footsteps.

 _Clap. Klapt. Shhpt-klap. Clapt._

It was really quiet – despite being surrounded by wilderness, Michael heard nothing. After half an hour or so he started to get a bit worried: how far away was he from the bridge? He couldn't remember the previous evening too well, but he did remember the sudden headache – and the phone call, even if there was no record of it.

Five more minutes passed until Michael saw the shape of a bridge pushing itself through the fog. However, there was no one there: the whole area was abandoned. The bridge indeed was in need of repairing, since its whole middle section was gone – seemingly just cut away. Michael got puzzled, but not because of the bridge: he still hadn't reached the turn he took the previous evening. It should have been impossible to arrive at the bridge without turning left first, so either the bridge had _moved itself_ , or Michael's memory wasn't trustworthy.

There was still no field – of course not. The traffic pylons and the van were gone; nothing but some empty oil drums left on their own. The sound of water was confusingly quiet and loud at the same time, which had to be because of the sharp environmental contrast. Michael stared at the water for a while (he could barely see it through the fog), until he decided to return to the car. Since the road offered only one way to go, it seemed that he would have to keep walking along it. This was a depressing and even scary thought, but Michael saw no other valid option.

 _Klapt. Shp. Clapt._

Michael reached his car and leaned against it, feeling a bit tired. He took the flashlight out of the glove compartment (just in case – also, he enjoyed carrying things while walking) and started following the road.

Time passed slowly again. The rock formations disappeared, the valley turned into flat terrain. High pines appeared around the road; their precise, distant silhouettes looked unreal. It did seem that Michael was heading towards some kind of potential settlement, which made his mood a tiny bit better. He passed an area surrounded by metallic mesh fence – at first it seemed empty, but there was a mobile home standing in the middle. Michael tried to see if anyone was inhabiting the place, but judging by the trailer's worn looks, it was just abandoned there. Even so, this was the first sign of human activity since the bridge, so it was some kind of progress.

Michael heard a muffled noise – it took him couple of seconds to understand that his phone was ringing. He didn't recognize the number, but at least there was field again. Michael answered, though he couldn't explain why he was a bit hesitant to do so. He heard a woman's voice.

" _Mike? You there?_ "

Her voice was deep yet very pleasant. However, Michael was unable to say anything; he was in a mild state of shock.

" _Can I talk to Amy? Or is she sleeping?_ "

Michael dropped the phone – then himself. His head started aching heavily; a sweet, disgusting stench appeared without warning. The phone was lying on the asphalt; its screen was black. Michael concentrated on breathing for a while until he was able to stand up again. He picked up the phone, which showed no signs of any calls – there was still no field. Michael looked around (and saw nothing but glittering fog), wondering if he was getting seriously sick. Still, he had no other option but to keep walking.

After fifteen minutes or so Michael found some buildings – two cubical houses made out of red bricks. They had small, metallic doors, which wouldn't open. This was to be expected, since the buildings seemed to serve as storages. There were some empty metallic drums left next to them; Michael smelled hints of gasoline. Soon more empty buildings and walkways appeared on both sides of the road, but everything seemed completely abandoned.

Eventually Michael passed a street sign – title _Munson Street_ was written on it.

* * *

Michael followed the sidewalk and inspected his surroundings. He quickly came to an absurd conclusion: after getting lost in the night (somewhat voluntarily), he had walked straight into a ghost town. The fog itself did create a lonely atmosphere, but Michael couldn't hear any sounds either – the whole area seemed just empty.

On the left side of the road, there was some kind of depot for old school busses. Their rusted, broken husks were standing next to each other; clearly they hadn't been used in a long time. Michael started to get a bit worried – maybe the town had been evacuated because of some kind of hazardous accident. Then again, the road would have been closed in such case, so maybe a region of the settlement was just deemed useless (for whatever reason). Surely he would find other people if he just kept progressing.

Michael reached a crossroads, and decided to turn right – on _Saul Street_. He passed a tall, green building, which was surrounded by metallic stands and plastic sheets. The sight was ugly for sure, but perhaps the building had been under renovation. There were some other smaller buildings on Michael's right, but their doors were locked and their purpose in general was quite unclear.

Michael arrived at a mouth of a tunnel, which passed through a high cement wall. It was notably darker inside, plus the air had a distant, stale smell lingering among it. The walls were quite dirty, which did make sense: there was no one around to clean them. Michael listened to his echoing footsteps, staring at the opposite end of the tunnel: it looked like a white, shining doorway. He stopped and looked behind – it seemed that he had reached the tunnel's midpoint. For a very brief moment he got slightly confused: where was he heading? From which end had he come from? Michael shook his head and immediately regained his positional awareness. He continued walking.

Michael passed some garbage cans filled with various types of junk – a bright, orange object was left on top of them. Michael picked up a small cassette player with gray and black colouring – just the _Play_ -switch was strikingly orange. Judging by the position of the player, it had to be broken. Even so, there were no scratches on it, and it seemed to work well (at least without a tape). Therefore Michael decided to keep the player – maybe he could find some unexpected use for it. Eventually he reached the end of the tunnel, returned among the bright fog and continued along _Saul Street_.

There was car standing next to the sidewalk – a blue sedan. It wasn't in a bad shape, which suggested recent use. Michael took a look inside, and saw a newspaper left on the passenger's seat. The doors were (naturally) locked, but Michael decided to interpret this as a positive sign. He left the car alone, and proceeded to another crossroads. Michael turned left, and started following _Neely Street_. He passed several local businesses, and got surprised by the colourful variety: _Gozo's Sushi, The Dance Company, Humongous Burritos..._ and naturally, every door Michael found was locked. Weirdly enough, some of these shops had signs declaring they were _OPEN_ – while they clearly were not.

Michael froze in place as he heard a distant sound. It was like low humming; _a car_. The sound disappeared for a while, then appeared again. It grew louder and louder, until Michael saw a set of bright lights passing through the crossroads in front of him – finally a sign of human activity. Michael started walking (he considered _running_ a bit too drastic), and turned right on _Katz Street_. He couldn't see or hear anything anymore, but he did find the car: a black, quite old sedan was parked next to an alleyway.

Michael inspected the vehicle and realized that the driver was already gone – but gone where? Surprisingly, they hadn't locked the car doors. Michael did (for a brief moment) consider stealing the vehicle, but such idea was too absurd. He realized that all he had to do was finding the driver and asking for help. And also, since said driver hadn't bothered locking the doors, they would surely return to the vehicle soon enough. Therefore, Michael decided to wait.

Michael's attention was caught by a folded paper left on the car's dashboard. He checked the item, which turned out to be a map of the area: _Munson, Katz, Neely..._ it was quite hard to believe, that right after walking into an almost-ghost town, Michael found the town's map. However, there was no name written on it – the side of the map was partially torn, so maybe the name got left behind. Even so, the map revealed that the settlement was built next to a lake – maybe this explained the fog. While Michael inspected the town's planning, a small snowflake landed on the paper, turning quickly into liquid. Several snowflakes started descending through the mist, gliding faintly towards the asphalt. The weather conditions surely had become interesting.

Michael heard a slamming sound – it came from somewhere close by. Had the driver entered one of the buildings? Michael wondered for a moment, until he started walking along the narrow _Martin Street_ _,_ passing several backyards and garages. The street led to a dead end in the form of a wooden fence, which confused Michael for a while. However, there was a small mesh fence placed between the wooden boards and one of the garages. In addition, the fence contained a small door, which was left partially open – maybe the driver went through there.

Michael followed, and entered a courtyard of sort. There were two big ornamental trees standing on his left; their leaf-filled branches got mostly lost inside the fog. Short grass covered the ground, yet there was a neat path across it, constructed of brown-red tiles, already covered in snow. Said path led to the back door of a tall building. There were other similar buildings right next to it; they formed a precise row. However, wooden fences were placed between the backyards, so each house had their own piece of outdoor area.

Michael walked to the door – it wasn't locked, so maybe the driver was inside. Surely they weren't living in the area, but perhaps they had to return to pick something up. Michael turned the door open. He took a step, yet not another: a sweet stench exited the building, filling his thoughts with nauseating pressure. Michael ran away from the doorway and fell on his knees, gagging heavily. Once the reflex was gone, he turned around and stared at the opened door – it was (comparatively) dark inside the building; all Michael could see from such distance was a black rectangular shape. He stood up, partially expecting something to come through the darkness, but nothing did – it was just quiet.

Michael approached the doorway, realizing that the smell was gone – he entered the building.


	5. Distortions

Michael took out his flashlight, but it turned out this wasn't necessary: fog-filtered light entered the house through windows, creating a sleeping atmosphere and providing enough visibility. However, Michael was standing at the back door, while said windows were in the opposite end, next to the front door – because of this, it took a moment until his eyes got adjusted.

On Michael's right, there was a small kitchen and a dining table. On his left, there was a staircase, which led to the second floor. In front of Michael, there was a narrow corridor which led to the front door. Michael started his exploration from the kitchen by inspecting the fridge. Its door was left slightly open; a cold ray of orange light escaped and landed on the steel-covered kitchen table. There was some beer inside ( _Avery's Grand Ale_ was written on the label) plus a can of soda ( _Cherryshed_ , stated the docket). Michael had no use for refreshments, so he closed the fridge and left the kitchen alone.

Michael took a look at the dark staircase, yet he decided to check the front door before ascending. There was a small area right next to the said door; a sort of a living room with two armchairs pulled in front of a TV. Three small vertical windows provided dreamlike lighting, plus a convenient way to check the weather: it was still snowing through the fog, maybe even more than a moment ago. Michael rubbed his forehead and stared at the black TV screen – his reflection was warped, twisted and distant.

Michael started wondering if he had made a wrong move: clearly no one was present in the apartment. He still wanted to visit the second floor, yet a small object next to the TV caught his attention. It was a C-cassette, with stark blue colouring – nothing was written on the title sticker. Michael got confused: not too long after finding a tape player he finds such fitting use for it. In addition, the looks of the cassette were in strong contrast with everything else in the house. Michael took out the recorder and set the tape inside. He heard distant crackling, until a distorted, shattering sound emerged. Michael recognized his own voice:

" _B?_ "

" _I...I'm sorry, I dropped it..._ "

" _...shit, don't step on the shards. Ahh...okay, just one of them broke._ "

" _..._ "

" _B? Don't worry, still seven bulbs left. Hey, it's fine. I'll clean this...can you help Sean with the printer?_ "

" _...yeah._ "

Crackling remained for several minutes until the tape ran out. Michael stared at the player for a while, unable to comprehend what he had just heard. Existence of such recording made no sense. First the phone calls, now this tape – Michael didn't know what to think. He put the recorder in his pocket and proceeded to second floor.

Michael ascended the stairs and and entered a narrow corridor with one small window at both ends – thus the middle section was strikingly dark. Michael inspected the first door he encountered, yet it was (less surprisingly) locked. The second one though, wasn't – behind it, a small (and very dark) storage filled with seemingly useless junk: carpets, clothes, glass jars, a worn baseball bat plus a bowl filled with lighters. Michael picked up one of them and spun the wheel – sparks morphed into small flame, creating rather atmospheric yet practically weak lighting.

A sound emerged – it was extremely unusual; like some kind of muffled fluttering. Then, a loud and violent crash – it came from the neighbouring room. Michael grabbed the baseball bat and stood still; what could create such noise all of a sudden? Michael had been quite certain about the house being empty. He returned to the corridor, but it was quiet again. Michael checked the locked door – now it was open. He entered a bathroom, squeezing the bat and expecting the worst (whatever that would have been).

The room was empty, yet the opposite wall was broken: a large vertical hole ran across it. There were pieces of white tiles lying everywhere; whoever (or whatever) went through the wall had done so with really strong intent. It seemed that the hole led to the neighbouring building – Michael wondered if he should go through it. In general, it seemed that things were taking all the more absurd turns, which made Michael all the more willing to get out of the town. In addition, this was the first clear sign of danger. Michael decided to enter the hole, just to get some kind of understanding about his situation.

Michael arrived in a staircase – it felt familiar. He took couple of steps downwards, and came to simple conclusion: the houses' interiors were pretty much identical. There was a similar kitchen and dining table in this building too. Michael left the first floor alone and went to the second floor corridor. According to the similarities below, a storage room and a bathroom were placed next to each other. Michael tried to hear something, but it was still quiet as ever. He approached the bathroom door, when he heard the fluttering sound again – it came through the door. Michael grabbed the handle and turned it, but didn't get any further.

Something threw itself against the door; one of the hinges gave up. Michael stepped back, holding the bat with both hands. Another hit on the door, and it fell down. So did Michael, as some kind of humanoid leaped past him and bumped into the wall. It stood up and ran to the staircase, leaving shocked Michael behind. He jumped up and followed the creature – there was a sweet, horrible stench in the air again.

Michael reached the first floor. The creature was at the front door, trying to open it in very unpractical ways. It turned around towards Michael, who froze in place. The humanoid's gray body mimicked that of a skinny woman, yet it had no breasts. Its hands were extremely white; like pure snow. However, Michael couldn't even notice these details, as he concentrated on the creature's face: it had a small mouth, but no eyes nor nose – above the lips, there were two adjacent pairs of leaf-like wings. They were transparent, with thin veins running across them. Every now and then, the wings twitched rapidly and almost hit against each other, pulling and twisting the facial skin.

Michael stepped backwards; the humanoid stepped forwards. It started leaping towards him, yet couldn't stay in balance: it fell and hit its body against the dining table, sweeping towards Michael with its arm. The wings started fluttering as the creature pulled itself up and grabbed Michael's jacket. Michael panicked and kicked the humanoid in stomach – he landed the baseball bat on its shoulder. It fell on the floor, its upper body twitching like an insect. Michael hit its head twice with the bat, crushing the skull and seemingly killing it – a pool of blood formed under its body. Michael was coughing heavily; he dropped the bat and leaned against the kitchen table – he felt sick. The smell was horrendous. Nausea took over, forcing Michael to vomit. He let out a string of curses and sat on the closest chair, staring at the gray corpse and counting the long seconds.

* * *

Michael stood up, unable to tell how long he had been in a passive state of mind. The dead creature was still lying on the floor. Since understanding all this seemed impossible, Michael had given up – all he had to do now was leaving the town. He picked up the blood-stained baseball bat and walked to the front door – it was locked. However, the back door was open, so Michael entered the backyard. Snow had already covered most of the ground, plus the temperature had dropped heavily.

Michael walked into the third house in the row, which again was almost identical to the previous ones – however, it was a bit dirtier, with dried leaves, dirt and moisture around the floors. Of course, the front door was once again locked. Michael looked around for a while, inspecting the living room, but couldn't find any keys. He considered breaking the door with the bat, when footsteps emerged from the staircase. A middle-aged man appeared, wearing black jeans, brown leather shoes and a dark sweater.

"Oh. Good day" the man said. He seemed extremely tired, yet his appearance was still rather assertive. Michael stared at him, until he realized: this was the man he had given his map to in the diner.

"Who are you?" Michael asked. A brief, worried expression visited the man's face.

"Brian Harding. I guess it's my turn: what the hell happened to you?"

Michael knew his own appearance was sort of hard to explain: blood splatters, carrying a baseball bat and seemingly utterly confused.

"I'm...some kind of creature attacked me. I had to..."

Brian changed his stance. He seemed to wait for Michael to continue.

"...I had to kill it. Some kind of...monster."

"A monster? And...you killed it with that bat?"

"Yes. I did."

Brian walked past Michael and sat on one of the armchairs. It seemed he didn't consider Michael a complete lunatic.

"So who are you?" Brian asked.

"...Michael" said Michael. He started getting worried because of the man's precise and calm nature.

"It's all wrong" Brian uttered. He took a pause until continuing:

"I don't know what this is, Michael. But – as you have already clearly noticed – what you just said isn't surprising to me. I hear sounds. I see things inside the fog – things I can not explain."

Michael didn't know whether to feel a bit relieved or much more worried.

"That creature you mentioned – what was it like?" Brian asked.

"It was gray...or white. It resembled human, but it had wings..." said Michael, realizing how weirdly difficult it was to reminisce.

"Brian" Michael started. "I have to get out of this town. Where's your jeep?"

Brian turned his face towards Michael, staring at him in confusion.

"How d...oh, I see. Indeed, we met at the diner last night. You gave me the map...I'm still grateful for that. Even if the map didn't help that much. I had to abandon my car."

"Why? What happened?"

"...it was an accident. They..."

Michael waited, but Brian didn't continue – instead, he just stared at the black TV screen.

"So...you don't live here" Michael said with questioning tone.

"No, no. Truth be told, I don't even know where we are. I don't think this place was even on your map."

Michael started thinking: both him and this man were lost in a ghost town and experiencing something unnatural.

"Brian…besides me, have you met anyone else?"

"I did, actually. A young man – dark hair, pink shirt and black vest. He seemed...well, I got the impression he had his own problems. Told me that he was a barber, but that's all I got out of him – didn't even tell me his name."

Michael got just more confused: three people lost in the same abandoned town was too much for coincidence.

"What about you? Have you met anyone else?" Brian asked.

Michael shook his head, yet Brian didn't give up:

"Your wife isn't with you?"

Michael stared at Brian, realizing that he had seen the golden ring on Michael's finger.

"No" Michael said with such sharp, lifeless tone, that Brian didn't ask further questions. Michael changed the subject:

"I saw a car parking on the street...right outside these apartments. I couldn't reach the driver, but I thought they entered one of these houses."

Brian looked puzzled.

"Really? I haven't heard or seen anything like that."

"I thought that maybe the driver lives here, but...seems to me no one lives here anymore. There was a map of this town in the car. We're close to the road which should lead out of here" Michael said, hoping that Brian would help him.

"So we would walk out?" Brian asked.

"We could. But if we can find the driver, maybe they can help us."

Brian stood up and sighed heavily.

"Okay, let's do that. I found this, it should fit in the..."

Sharp beeping noise stopped Brian. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small, black box – a pager. He stared at its narrow screen for a while, looking extremely worried.

"…Brian?" Michael asked.

"I'm sorry, but I have to do something. I...here, take this."

Brian gave Michael a small, golden key with several dirt stains on it.

"What's wrong?" Michael asked.

"My boys need me" Brian replied while staring at the closest wall. He walked to the back door and stepped outside, leaving confused Michael behind.

Michael used the key on the front door – the lock turned open.


	6. Ache

Michael followed the snowflakes landing on _Lindsey Street_. According to the map, he was very close to _Nathan Avenue_ – couple of steps north and that would be it. However, without a vehicle, Michael's situation seemed hopeless: he had no idea how far away the closest less logically broken settlement was. Therefore, he returned to the position of the black car, but it was gone – the driver had already left. Michael let out some quiet curses and headed north, checking every abandoned car along the way.

Only one of the vehicles wasn't locked, but the keys were nowhere to be found – yet there was something else of interest: a small, black revolver left in the glove compartment. Michael had very little knowledge of firearms, but he decided to be brave and try new things. The chamber was filled with six bullets – if he were to face any more of those winged creatures, the gun could give a clear advantage. Therefore, he put it in his pocket.

Michael reached a crossroads and took right, hoping that he could hitchhike soon enough. This option was deemed useless rather quickly: it took Michael several seconds to understand what he was seeing, since he saw basically _nothing_. Turned out that the road had collapsed: there was nothing but a seemingly endless chasm opening in front of him. Michael stared at the void for a while, slowly realizing that the creature, the phone calls and this phenomenon were connected – they meant something, yet Michael was unable (and reluctant) to see that meaning.

He turned around and passed the crossroads – then, another slamming sound, right behind him. Michael backtracked and saw another string of footprints in the snow: someone else had ran along the _Lindsey Street,_ straight into a local medical clinic. It was a gray, two-storied building with an ambulance parked next to it (in a very imprecise manner). Michael walked to the front door, which was left partially open – it really seemed there was a fifth person strolling in the town, which had to make it the most active ghost town Michael had ever heard of.

He took out the gun and stepped inside.

* * *

Michael arrived in a white (yet dark) lobby, given two options: right or forwards. Before choosing, he took out the flashlight in order to examine the reception's desk. It was filled with all kinds of appropriate items: files, papers, phones, computer screens, pencils, fliers and so on. Michael picked up a small brochure, which advertised a post-abortion organization – it seemed they provided help for dealing with the experience. Michael stared at the picture of a fetus on the front, until he flipped the paper around – something was written behind it with white marker:

 _I, II, III._

Michael stared at the text for a while, wondering who could have written it. Since he was getting used to feeling so confused, he left the brochure on the desk and continued forward, following a wide corridor. There were many (locked) doors here and there, but no sign of presumed human activity.

Michael reached an elevator, which naturally didn't work. He was forced to take the stairs, kicking down a group of small objects – _candles_. There were white candles placed on the sides of the staircase, ordered neatly in small groups. Michael smelled strong hints of stearin and smoke, coming to the conclusion that the candles had been burned recently. The whole idea was insane, but it did give him some equally insane ideas about his situation.

Michael reached the second floor – lighting was better thanks to couple of big windows. More candles were left in every corner, some of them still emitting smoke. Michael kept walking along the hallway until he heard something – muffled, soft sounds came through the door at the opposite end. Michael turned the door open and entered a rather large room – or just a _spacious_ room, since there was nothing but a worn sofa and a small wooden shelf lying in the corner (plus more candles). Michael counted the amount of small windows this room had, reaching a total amount of twelve – more than enough, he deduced.

"Can I help you?"

Michael got startled – a young woman appeared through another doorway. She was rather short, wearing a dark red hoodie (it was bit too oversized) and blue jeans. She had no shoes; just red socks. Her long hair was strongly yellow and formed a precise ponytail. Her facial features were quite round; especially her small nose, which seemed to curve a tiny bit upwards.

These were the elements of her appearance that got no attention from Michael – he concentrated on the right side of her face, which was utterly broken. The skin around the cheek got violently pulled towards her ear; it was mangled by burns, covered with oval-shaped patterns and contained couple of small black holes. There were several cuts here and there – one of them was absurdly sharp and wide; almost horizontal wound running across her eye socket, which contained no eye. Every movement of her face made the torn skin twitch systematically; as if there was something moving under it.

Michael stepped back, which in light of his late experiences was quite understandable. However, the woman laughed and responded with her bright voice:

"Heh, I'm hideous."

Michael stared at her for a while; neither of them said anything. Eventually, Michael made his move:

"So...who are you?"

"Jessica – or Jess, whichever you like. And you?"

"Michael."

"Well, Michael...since you carry a gun, it is lucky we met here in clear daylight – and not in the conference hall" said Jess with a bit playful tone, pointing at the dark room behind her. Michael put his gun away, willing to find more about the woman. Still, his priority was leaving the town.

"Listen...Jess...do you have a car?"

"My husband does."

"...okay, so...where is he?"

"At the hospital. He's looking for medicine."

Michael got confused – in general, there was something very wrong about Jessica's relaxed and open behaviour.

"Okay...alright, so could you and your husband give me a lift out of here?"

Jess stopped smiling – it seemed like she was getting curious.

"You ask such questions and carry a gun...and there's blood on your jacket."

"I don't...I got attacked by something – some kind of animal. I had to kill it."

Jess was quiet for a while, analyzing Michael's presence. Eventually she started nodding.

"Yeah...sure, you can come with us once Jack returns. Shouldn't take long now."

Michael sighed out of relief – he didn't even consider the broken road nor the fact that this woman could have been somewhat insane. It was, in the first place, quite weird how she trusted an armed bloodied stranger. Michael decided to find more about her.

"Jess, I have to ask: why are you here?"

"...you mean..."

"Why are you in this town? It's clearly abandoned; I got here by accident when my tire got punctured."

"Well, you could say we are on a road trip – I really enjoy moving around, so Jack takes me to all kinds of places. Yet we don't make any precise plans, so...yeah, I guess like you, I just happened to arrive here. Hmh."

Michael tried to think, which was difficult due to looming headache. He rubbed his forehead and started doubting his short-term memory.

"Headache?" Jess asked. She walked to the sofa and picked up a white plastic bottle left on it.

"These are pretty strong...should help with headache too" she said, and gave the bottle to Michael. There was a red triangle imprinted on the label, next to the title _Neosolorin_.

"These are...painkillers?"

"Mm-hm. I use those, but Jack will bring more. You can have that last one."

"...you need these? Then you should keep it."

Michael gave the bottle back to Jess, who was staring at him with her head slightly tilted. It was evident that whatever had destroyed her face had left her in pain too. Even so, Michael wanted to hear it from her.

"...Jess, why...do you need those?"

"I was in an accident some years ago – bet this surprises you. I don't really remember that day at all, but I do remember how it felt. It's easy, since I can still feel it."

Jess stared at the floor, holding the bottle with both hands. For a while, neither of them said anything, until Michael continued:

"Jess, I think...I have to close my eyes for a while. Is it okay if I wait here until...until Jack returns?"

Jess didn't answer right away; she was lost in her thoughts.

"...oh, sure. You can use the sofa. Just look out for the candles."

Michael sat on the couch, sweeping one of said candles with his feet.

"Why are there so many of these? They are everywhere..."

"I'm not sure. They just appear sometimes...and burn for a moment. I'm going through some books in the conference room, so you just rest."

Jess disappeared in the dark hallway. Michael didn't know what to think, yet there seemed to be certain logic to everything – _insane_ logic, but still. He leaned against the sofa, closed his eyes and fell asleep while smelling the scent of stearin lingering in the cold air.


	7. Carnival

Michael woke up.

Seemed like he had been sleeping for an hour or so – Jess wasn't in the room. Michael called her, but got no answer. He stood up and looked around, just now noticing a piece of paper left on the sofa. There was a message written on it with really pretty handwriting:

 _Michael,_

 _Jack should have returned already, I'm worried_

 _I'll walk to the hospital and look for him_

 _you were sleeping so I didn't wake you up_

Michael wondered for a moment – it was possible that Jack wasn't even real. Since Michael couldn't trust his own experiences, there was no valid reason to believe Jessica could trust hers. In any case, Michael decided to follow her. He returned to the first floor and stepped outside.

Snow had covered the streets, and more was coming. There were no visible footprints, so Michael took out his map. Hospital was located on _Carroll Street_ , on the other side of town – of course, otherwise it would have been too easy. Michael followed _Nathan Avenue_ , passing a fire station and a tall church made out of brown, jagged stones. He arrived at another chasm, which prevented further progression. Michael got seriously worried – as if the town was guiding him somewhere. His only option was returning to _Neely Street_.

Michael stopped, as he saw a distant shape among the fog and snow. A lazy, fluttering sound emerged – another gray humanoid with wings on its face appeared. With sluggish and tired movements, it turned towards Michael and started walking. Michael pulled out his gun, hesitant to fire – yet it seemed he had no other options. As the creature leaped towards him, he shot it twice. First bullet punctured its shoulder, second one its throat – it fell down, twitching and fluttering violently, until it ran out of blood.

Michael stared at the corpse and the mangled, bloody snow for a while, until another humanoid walked through the fog. A distant sound echoed between the buildings – seemed like there were several such creatures roaming the streets. Michael decided that his only hope was getting out of the open area, so he started (somewhat impatiently) inspecting closest doors. Most of them were locked, yet one did open – if Michael hadn't been in a rush, he would have been able to expect this. He entered the building and slammed the door shut.

It was dark inside – Michael turned on his flashlight. He seemed to had entered some kind of store, which was easy to deduce from the rows of white shelves. Most of them were empty, yet some cans filled with cat food were left. Michael inspected the counter, yet there wasn't much to find. There was a chair with a magazine left on it, but Michael had no use for either of those. He proceeded through the shop, realizing that it sold mainly pet supplies.

Michael reached a backroom with some cardboard boxes stacked on top of each other. Logically enough, he found a backdoor as well – it wasn't locked. Michael turned it open, feeling cold air hitting his face. He stepped outside again, noticing that it was snowing even more than before – plus it was getting windy. There were two trucks parked on Michael's left, which did make sense: he was on the backyard of several local businesses. The area was almost completely surrounded by high apartment buildings, yet one narrow street punctured the row on Michael's right. It led to a parking lot with couple of snow-covered vehicles.

Michael wondered if the road would get him on the other side of the chasm. With this idea in mind, he started walking across the backyard, yet sudden movement caught his attention: someone was roaming between the buildings. Based on the character's precise movements, it wasn't one of those creatures, but a human. This person disappeared behind a blue door until Michael had chance to do anything. He did think about following the character, yet decided to check the road first. His expectations were met, as he found nothing but another collapsed part of _Nathan Avenue_. Therefore, he had no choice but to follow the stranger.

Michael arrived at the door, passing some ornamental trees and benches. He stared at the high, three-storey apartment building, which in his situational context looked rather ominous. It was made out of brown-red bricks; all the windows were black, making the whole thing look abandoned (like everything else in the town). Michael opened the blue door, swept snow from his shoulders and stepped inside.

* * *

Michael was standing at the end of a short, lightless corridor. Right in front of him, said corridor turned left and right. There were some windows here and there, yet they all were covered with cardboards and wooden panels – in general, the building's interior seemed very shabby and worn out.

Michael rubbed his hands – it was almost colder than outside. He started walking, turning right at the crossroads. He found a locked door, which wasn't a promising start – there was a small, golden plate on the door, with number _102_ engraved on it. Michael proceeded to door number _103_ , which was also locked. However, to Michael's mild surprise, number _104_ did open.

Michael stepped in the apartment. He passed a closet and a small kitchen placed in the corner, arriving in a large, mostly empty hall. It was like a huge lobby, which made no sense – the room was way too big to be contained within the building. Dim light passed through some windows at the opposite end, yet couldn't provide much visibility.

"Watch your step."

Michael turned around, just now noticing a man sitting on a lonely chair. He was wearing a pink (though dirty) shirt with rolled up sleeves. On top of it was a black (and worn) leather vest. In addition, he had dark blue jeans and brown, rather stylish leather shoes. His hair was dark and quite short; his face both round and sharp-edged. He was staring at the vast, empty space, and seemed rather tired.

"...and who are you?" Michael asked. He did remember Brian's comments about a man wearing pink shirt.

"Hmh? I don't..." the man started. There was strong tension in his voice. While Brian and Jessica had seemed somewhat sane, Michael got the feeling that this stranger wasn't doing well at all.

"...I'm Michael. What's your name?"

"I think it's better to keep it as a secret."

The man kept staring at the emptiness while slowly rubbing his hair – there were couple of golden rings on his fingers.

"Why are you here?" Michael asked.

The man said nothing, yet he seemed to get puzzled. Michael continued:

"I don't even know where I am right now, so I could really use some help."

The man smiled.

"Oh...that makes sense, actually."

"...it does?"

"Yeah. Lots of people here...makes you wonder..."

"I know" Michael said and decided to open up:

"I've seen and killed those...creatures with wings. I've met other people too, despite no one living here anymore. I don't know what to make out of this."

The man was quiet for a while. Michael started feeling uneasy because of the nonsensical size of the room.

"Just let time pass, Michael. Neither of us can leave yet. And don't ask – I don' t know what all this is. The town is cursed for all I know. Or we are."

It seemed that the man wasn't going to talk about his own experiences, so Michael decided to be blunt:

"Did you...use to be a barber?"

The man got confused – clearly he hadn't expected Michael's question.

"I met someone called Brian...he told me that he had met you."

The man nodded – he was clearly relieved.

"Yes...I remember. I did meet mister Harding, and yes, I used to be a barber. We didn't talk much; he seemed rather busy."

Michael didn't know what to think about this man – about the Barber. Eventually he got up from the chair and started walking forwards, past Michael.

"Michael..." he began while taking slow steps and staring at the floor.

"...what matters the most?" asked the Barber – his voice almost cracked.

"What? I don't..." Michael replied, unable to fully understand the question. He got more and more confused as Barber stopped and stretched his both arms horizontally, standing there like a statue. Then, he answered his own question:

"Cunt."

Michael got utterly puzzled – he had no idea what to say.

"Don't you agree? Seems to me everyone does, even if they don't say it."

Michael sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead; headache was coming back. Since this stranger was clearly losing it, there was only one more thing Michael had to find out:

"I guess you don't have a car."

"You are not wrong" Barber said. Michael gave up and decided to leave him alone. He left the room, hoping that he wouldn't meet Barber again

* * *

Michael walked to the opposite end of the corridor and reached the door number _101,_ which was left a tiny bit open – yet someone had nailed couple of wooden boards in front of the doorway. Michael bowed down and squeezed through the impractical obstacle, arriving to another apartment. This one wasn't physically insane: rather small living room, tiny kitchen in the corner, bedroom on Michael's right, and (presumably) bathroom on his left. There wasn't much furniture – just a worn sofa plus one small dresser. The ornamental wallpaper was in bad shape, filled with small scrapes and stains.

Michael's hands were freezing – was it actually colder in this specific the apartment? He tried to stay in movement by inspecting the living room. Next to the double bed was a small nightstand, with a black box on top of it. Title _Raven 38. Premium_ was written on the box – it contained cartridges. Michael had no idea why the residents would store ammunition in their bedroom, but he didn't really complain. He took out the gun and realized that the cartridges were perfect fit – another event too absurd to be a pure coincidence. Michael filled the cylinder and took rest of the ammo with him.

On the other side of the bed, a chair was facing towards a small window. It seemed that some kind of bulky object was left on the chair – it was the upper body of a female mannequin. Michael had no idea why someone would even own such a thing, but he was getting used to confusion. The mannequin's face had no paint on it, plus it was missing both arms. Otherwise it was in rather good condition – unlike rest of the apartment. Still, Michael had no use for the doll, so he left it alone.

It was time to visit the presumed bathroom. Indeed, there was a bathroom behind the closed door, plus another small room with no clear purpose: it was nothing but an empty space. The bathroom contained a toilet, a sink and a bathtub covered with blue curtain, all crammed close to each other. There was a small cabinet above the sink, which contained couple of medicine bottles – one of them caught Michael's attention, as the label stated _Neosolorin_. Michael stared at the bottle for a while until stuffing it in his pocket. He coughed and leaned against the sink; headache was getting stronger.

Michael washed his face with cold water, trying to relax. He dried himself and inspected the blue curtain – it seemed a bit dirty. Michael pulled the curtain aside, revealing the bathtub. There was a body sitting inside it – body of a young woman. She had brown hair, round face, small nose and tired eyes, which were open; their meaningless gaze was concentrated on the ceiling. Her skin was gray, yet it contained faintly red spots all around it. She was wearing nothing but a white, worn bathrobe. On her left wrist, there was a jagged, long wound – the bottom of the tub was covered by smooth pool of russet liquid.

Michael opened his mouth, about to say something – yet he said nothing. He shivered and stepped backwards, as the nausea hit him. He threw up and fought his pathetic way out of the bathroom, falling on the living room floor. Disgusting stench filled the air; it wasn't cold anymore. All light disappeared, as the room turned pitch-black. Yet suddenly, a bright, orange shine surrounded him – it swept across the room, then disappeared and appeared again.

Michael heard a distant howling noise until he passed out.


	8. Otherworld

Michael felt sick.

He opened his eyes, rolled on his back and rubbed his forehead. The smell was horrifying – after five seconds it reached the level of mildly disgusting – after ten seconds it was gone again. Michael looked around, lazily caressing the golden ring on his ring finger while trying to locate his cell phone. Turned out it was resting on the floor behind him – the floor on which Michael had been lying for who knows how many hours.

He stood up, concentrated on steady breathing and turned on the flashlight – how was it so dark all of sudden? Michael couldn't remember why he had been lying on the floor, but he did remember visiting the bathroom – yet this made no sense, as the bathroom's door was boarded shut. Then again, Michael had no memory of the apartment being in such terrible condition: the wallpaper was torn and filled with greasy stains. There were couple of smooth, black holes in the walls, surrounded by metallic rings with diameter of roughly four centimeters.

Orange light swept through the apartment again – yet there was no source for it. Michael started seriously questioning his mental health, but he had to keep moving – whatever all this was about, it would only get worse by staying still. Therefore, he returned to the corridor and proceeded to the crossroads, passing some rusty pipes running between the floor and ceiling. Michael opened the door next to him, which led to a large courtyard between the apartment buildings. He stood there in mild shock, since the weather had changed completely: it was raining through the darkness. There were several pools of dirty water around the yard; temperature had risen notably – all snow had already melted away.

Michael forced himself to start walking. He followed a narrow path between some ornamental bushes and lawns, noticing a swimming pool in the middle of the yard. Interestingly enough, there was a police car parked next to it, even though the courtyard was completely surrounded by metallic fences – how was the vehicle driven there? It seemed to be in clean, working condition, yet the doors were naturally locked, plus its lights weren't on. Michael looked around the yard, and noticed an ambulance on the other side of the fence – again with no lights.

Michael followed the road to another door, which led to a small lobby – a rectangular staircase ascended on his right. There was a rusty matrix of mail boxes hanging on the wall; one of them was left open. Michael inspected its contents, and picked up a black C-cassette. There was something written on the label with black marker:

 _Your part in the gathering._

Michael cursed; nothing made sense to him anymore. He took out the player and put the tape inside, afraid of what he might hear. Soon, an unfamiliar voice appeared:

" _911, what's your emergency?_ "

" _I need an...ambulance here. And police too._ "

" _Okay. What is your address?_ "

" _Cloverfield Avenue 10. Between the...Kings Street and..._ "

" _I got it; paramedics and police are on their way. What is your emergency?_ "

" _I'm fine myself but my neighbour is...he says his wife is dead._ "

" _Do you know what happened to her?_ "

" _No, he just met me in the...met me in the hallway. I think his wife is still in their apartment, but the door is locked._ "

" _Is your neighbour present? Can I talk to him?_ "

" _He...went downstairs. He just told me to call you._ "

" _Do you think your neighbour hurt his wife?_ "

" _..._ "

" _Sir?_ "

" _I don't think so. I mean, his clothes were clean. Nothing like...I don't think he had been fighting with anyone._ "

" _Okay. In which floor is the apartment?_ "

" _In fifth. It's...number 48._ "

" _Okay. Don't hang up the phone, help is there soon._ "

Only distorted crackling remained, until faint sounds of rain emerged. Two men were talking.

" _Sir? Can you hear me? Do you know where you are? Hm?_ "

" _...he okay? No injuries?_ "

" _Yeah, nothing...and pupils are fine. Didn't you go up there?_ "

" _I did, but...the smell..._ "

No more words. Michael took the tape out and stared at it for a while – until dropping it on the floor. He proceeded to the staircase.

Michael reached the second floor of the building, which was even more nonsensical than the first: the corridors were completely covered with black, shiny plastic – every square inch of every surface. Michael felt how the plastic got stuck to his shoes, warping and twisting every time he took a step. The stale, warm smell made him nauseous again, so he tried to move as fast as possible. Most of the apartments' doors were under the black wrapping, but one was left visible – that of room _209,_ so Michael entered.

The interior was left without black coating, which Michael appreciated greatly. He passed a closet and a small kitchen, arriving in a huge, mostly empty room – it was just like apartment _104_ in first floor, with one massive difference: a gaping chasm in the floor. Michael froze in place and stared at the circular mouth of a black void, with at least 20 meter diameter. The inner walls seemed to be made out of flaking, dirty concrete. The whole thing made no sense at all, since the first floor should have been visible – instead, the pit seemed (or rather _felt_ ) extremely deep.

"Watch your step."

Michael got startled – Barber was sitting on a chair again, staring at the chasm. His eyes were red.

"What the hell is this?" Michael uttered.

"So you see it...the hole. I think I have to..."

Barber stood up and started walking towards the edge. Once he reached it, he stretched his arms horizontally and looked down, towards the void.

"...are you going to jump there?" Michael asked. He sure as hell wasn't going anywhere near the hole; even looking at it made him feel sick.

"Yes, I think I have to. He is calling me – you can't hear it, right?"

"What? Who is calling you?"

"I'm not sure myself..."

Barber moved his feet forward, setting the tips of his shoes above complete darkness.

"Michael, I get it – why this...what all this means. So I have to ask something."

Barber's voice was filled with tension – as if he was about to cry.

"What have you done?" he asked. Michael thought about the question for couple of seconds, assuming that he had understood Barber's intentions.

"I have done nothing...I have done nothing wrong. But I take it that you have."

"More than you could know" Barber said. He took a pause until finishing:

"I'm sorry."

Barber stepped forward and dropped his body in the chasm. Michael turned around and cursed, yet there was nothing he could have done to help – actually, he wasn't sure if he had even _wanted_ to help. Michael returned to the corridor, hoping that he wouldn't meet Barber again.

* * *

Michael followed the black, glittering corridors, yet it seemed useless – all other apartments were sealed. However, an access to another staircase was partially visible, due to a long vertical cut in the plastic. Michael tore his way to the door's handle and entered the stairs. He ascended to third floor, which was covered in plastic just like the second one. Michael turned left and reached a crossroads. He looked along the dark corridor facing north, noticing a distant glimmer of light at the opposite end. Michael started approaching its unclear source, until the light suddenly grew stronger.

Michael stopped, as warm, orange shine filled the hallway, turning every surface into black gold. A humanoid was sitting on the floor – it resembled a naked, slim female with grayish, almost blue skin. However, it had no head – instead, just a large pile of flesh, with a round light bulb screwed inside. A curved horn-like appendage rose in front of it, dividing the shine in two. The creature placed its hands on the bulb, immediately pulling them away – a muffled, howling scream emerged, and forced Michael to take couple steps backwards.

The humanoid stood up and turned at Michael – it started walking towards him, taking long and fast steps. Michael raised his gun and pulled the trigger: walls compressed the gunshot into hellish whistling. Bullet roamed through the creature's upper body, spitting blood on every surface behind it. Michael was about to fire again, as the humanoid fell towards him – the sharp, calcified tip of its horn cut Michael's left arm open. He shouted a string of curses, kicked the creature and emptied the cylinder. One bullet broke the bulb; a cloud of red dust got free, reacted with air and ignited – red flame was born for half a second.

Michael stepped away from the corpse while holding his arm – the wound didn't seem too deep, and weirdly enough, it wasn't too painful either. After recovering from the shock, he loaded the gun and continued south, reaching apartment _309_. It was missing its door and most of furniture – nothing but a lonely shelf was left in the living room. Michael entered the bathroom (its dislocated door was resting on the floor) and started washing the wound, feeling dizzy. He did notice the empty bathtub, partially covered by a blue curtain, yet didn't pay closer attention to it. Michael returned to the living room, leaning against walls in order to stay on two feet.

Orange light swept across the room, casting blurry shadows everywhere. Once again it had no proper source – it seemed to be a hallucination. Michael inspected the shelf and noticed a small object in front of him – a silver key with numbers _107_ engraved on it. Michael picked it up, wondering where room _107_ was located. Deducing by the numbers, it had be in the first floor, and by assuming all the floors had identical layout, Michael had an idea where to go.

Michael's phone started ringing – the caller was unknown. Michael had no reason to believe that the call was even real, but he still answered it. He heard the voice of a woman – it was rather deep yet pleasant. However, she sounded distressed:

" _...Mike, you know...you know what the pills do to me? They make me sick, so that I had something else to think about. That's all they do, I can't take –_ "

Michael disconnected and returned to the hallway.

* * *

Michael reached the staircase and descended to the eastern lobby. There was a distant, sweet and revolting stench in the air, forcing Michael to cover his nose every now and then. He had two options: a door leading to the eastern corridor, and the front door of the apartment building. Of course, as the front door was locked, Michael had to enter the hallway.

He turned the door open – a mixture of disgusting smells hit him. The whole corridor reeked, yet this time there was a practical reason: Michael entered a horrified shock, as his flashlight revealed several body bags left along the corridor – all of them containing corpses, twisted in various positions, leaning against each other. At the opposite end, Michael saw a glimmer of orange light, which morphed into strong shine: another bulb-headed creature was sitting among the cadavers, seemingly caressing one of them with its hands.

Michael realized he had no choices left: he had to enter the hallway. So he did, fighting against the nausea and every natural instinct. The creature twitched and stood up; it let out a whiny, muffled howl. Michael reacted fast and shot it twice – it fell on its back and shattered the bulb against the floor. Bright, red flame clung on the black plastic, yet didn't seem to spread further. Michael jumped over the fire and opened the door number _107_. He stormed inside and shut the door behind him, leaned against his knees and gasped for cleaner air.

Michael entered the living room, which contained a sofa and two armchairs set around a glass table – nothing particularly useful. He checked the bedroom, yet there was no bed – just some rusty pipes running between floor and ceiling. He also visited the bathroom: it contained a toilet, a sink and a bathtub covered with blue curtain, all crammed close to each other. There was a small cabinet above the sink, which contained couple of medicine bottles – one of them caught Michael's attention, as the label stated _Exit_ – rather unusual name for medicine. Michael stared at the bottle for a while until turning the cap open. Inside the bottle there was another silver key with numbers _107_ imprinted on it.

Confused Michael put the key in his pocket and washed his face with cold water, trying to relax. He dried himself and inspected the blue curtain – it seemed a bit dirty. Michael pulled the curtain aside, revealing the bathtub. He stared at the empty tub for a while, sighed heavily and followed the whirls of water vapor created by his exhaling – now that he thought about it, it was rather cold in the apartment. He swiped his glasses with a piece of paper and stepped back into the living room, feeling extremely tired. Michael sat on one of the armchairs as his phone started ringing. He ignored the call, turned off the flashlight, closed his eyes and eventually fell asleep.


	9. 67

Michael woke up.

It was cold in the living room – his hands were freezing. He stood up and moved around in order to warm himself. Just now he realized, that the room was filled with dim, snow-filtered light, which passed through the dirty windows. Michael remembered the darkness well enough, but couldn't tell how long he had been sleeping. He picked up the phone and walked to the door – it was locked. After a moment of utter puzzlement, Michael applied the key he had found – the door turned open.

It was rather dark in the hallway, but not pitch-black. No more plastic, dead bodies nor those creatures – everything was just abandoned and sleeping again. Michael walked to the lobby and opened the front door – gust of wind threw some snowflakes on his face. He stepped outside, enjoyed the clean, cold air and rubbed his hands together. Suddenly, his phone started ringing. Michael answered (despite not really wanting to do so); once again the familiar voice of a woman appeared.

" _Mike? Have you seen Amy?_ "

"...no."

" _I'm not sure where I am myself...but I just passed a hospital. I thought I saw her around –_ "

"Who are you?"

" _...what...I'm sorry, what was that?_ "

"..."

" _Michael, I'm your wife. Why would ask something like that? Is something wrong?_ "

"..."

" _Mike, we have to find her. I'll check the hospital, she could be in there. And...after that, we can do it – I promise. Wherever you –_ "

Michael disconnected. He stood still for a moment, following snowflakes. Eventually the low temperature forced him to move, so he started walking around. While doing so, Michael noticed a set of footprints in the snow, which had to be left recently – someone else had walked past the apartment building and continued west.

Michael started following the footprints. He reached a crossroads, and turned north. There were couple of abandoned cars on the street – one of them was covered with a white tarpaulin. Because of the weather, this wasn't too illogical, but Michael nevertheless found it unnerving. He kept walking until a high brick wall appeared on his right, with some barbed wire left on top of it. There was a large, gloomy building behind said wall, yet its purpose was left unclear to Michael.

The footprints led him to a motel's parking lot – _Jack's Inn_ , stated the sign. A figure appeared through the fog, taking the form of a young woman. Jessica was wearing a large, dark green coat, whose hood was thrown over her head. Her movements were slow and stiff – she seemed exhausted.

"Michael..." she started.

"You look terrible" Michael said, surprised by how easy it was to talk to her.

"I always do" Jess responded; a faint hint of smile visited the healthy side of her face. Her hands were shaking.

"Hey, I...found these" Michael continued and pulled out the painkillers. He handed them to Jess, who picked up the bottle with distant, puzzled expression – as if she couldn't believe someone would help her like this.

"Wh...where did you..." she started.

"They were in this empty apartment – all kinds of medicine were stored there."

Jess stared at the bottle, then at Michael. Eventually, she opened the cap and dropped one tablet on her hand. She swallowed it, seemingly already relieved.

"...hey, come with me" she said and started walking. Michael followed her to a door, which led in one of the motel's rooms. Jess shut the door behind them and placed the coat on an armchair. She sat on a small bed (interestingly, there were two such beds in the room), and started inspecting a black handbag left on the nightstand.

"I take that the pills helped" Michael said, almost smiling.

"Is it that obvious?" Jess replied. "Hold on, I'm trying to remember where I put it..."

Michael stayed quiet, wondering what Jess wanted to show him. He looked around and examined the room's dim, sleepy colours. There was a TV on his right, yet it wasn't turned on. Michael stared at its black screen and saw his own reflection – it was warped, twisted and distant.

Michael turned a bit – now he saw Jess' reflection too, but there was something wrong with it. Michael saw needles – irregular, bone white needles with length of half a meter. They were protruding from Jessica's head, sticking on the bed sheets and the wallpaper, fighting against her every movement. Some of them were burrowed in her shoulders, locking her body in one position. Her eye was wide open, yet there was no real expression on her face – nothing but passive and waiting, empty stare.

Michael turned around, almost shouting her name – but Jess was fine. He swept cold sweat from his forehead, taking a shocked look at the TV. However, there was nothing peculiar about the reflections anymore.

"Hmm? What is it?" Jess asked.

"...no, nothing. I think I'm...becoming insane..."

Michael sat on the other bed and took off his cap. Jess was investigating the nightstand's drawer, from which she pulled a small mirror.

"Oh, here it is. Look."

Michael turned around – Jessica wasn't wounded anymore. Every cut and burn was gone; her small and round face was completely restored.

"What the hell..." Michael uttered.

"I really don't know how, but this place heals me. You see it, right?"

Michael stood up and tried to think, while Jess was examining her face through the mirror. Things started to make more and more sense to him.

"Jess, I...have seen and heard things, which make no sense...and this is one of them. There is something wrong with this town. I get these phone calls, and the caller is someone who I know should be dead...they can't be real."

Jess put the mirror on the nightstand and turned towards Michael.

"Yeah, I know. I mean, without the pills, I...wouldn't want to believe any of this either. But it's all real enough. Too real."

"What is it like without them?"

Jess crossed her feet.

"...tension and ache. Just very simple pain, really. I can't overcome it and I can't distract myself from it. At worst, it's unbearable."

Jess became quiet; Michael didn't know what to say. Eventually, she continued:

"Say, Michael...could you stay here with me?"

Her tone made it quite clear what she was implying – still, Michael got confused.

"...wait, what do mean by that?"

"I think you know."

"...I don't...no, I can't. Why are you even asking that? You told me you are married."

It was her turn to get confused.

"What? No, I...was, but my husband is dead. He died...when I got injured."

Michael stared at her, realizing they both were losing it. He stood up and walked to the door.

"I'm sorry, there's something I have to do" Michael said bluntly and stepped outside. Truthfully, he actually had no idea what to do, but spending time with Jessica seemed to be the worst possible choice. Because of the previous phone call, he thought about visiting the hospital – even if such idea was anything but pleasant.

* * *

Michael pulled the cap over his hair and looked around – nothing but snow and snowy fog. He checked the map, walked through the parking lot and crossed _Nathan Avenue_ , spotting a fenced area on the opposite side. Michael turned left and spotted another abandoned vehicle – yet this one was familiar: a black, angular sedan. It seemed to be the very same car whose owner Michael had tried to reach. This time the doors were locked, which could have been due to a map gone missing.

The car was left next to an area with many ornamental bushes and lawns. It was covered in red and blue tiles, giving a rather warm expression. Michael decided to do some investigation. Soon, a small building appeared on his left, yet its door was locked. He passed more bushes, some trees (he had no idea about their species), brown brick walls and benches – the area seemed to be a park. If Michael's situation hadn't been so distracting, he would have admired the intricate architecture and layout.

Michael arrived in front of nothing – or rather, it just looked like nothing, as it actually was a lake. Snow and fog dropped visibility under five meters; weak yet cold wind was blowing towards Michael. He walked at a fence, next to a binocular stand (usage required small payment). It did make sense to build a recreational park next to a lake, yet surely the weather kept its true potential hidden. Michael started following the lakeside, until a precise shape appeared on his right – a sort of monument was standing there. It was a stone tablet, with the following engraving:

 _In memory of the sixty seven_

 _who died of illness and now sleep_

 _beneath the lake._

Since Michael still had no idea where he actually was, this text gave him first hint of insight. It seemed that this wasn't just about him; the town in general was somewhat broken. Michael wondered how an epidemic was connected to his experiences, yet a direct connection would have been absurd. He left the monument alone, thinking that he wasn't as mentally ill as he had previously thought – which wasn't actually reassuring.

Michael stopped, as he spotted someone next to the fence – a man was standing there, staring at the lake while holding something in his hands. He had very short, black hair, a black leather jacket and deep blue jeans. Turned out that he was holding a camera.

"...you own that car? The black car on the street?" Michael started rather impatiently. The man turned around – his eyes were confusingly green.

"Yeah, I do" he said. Michael thought about his plan for couple of seconds, until continuing:

"Listen, I need help – I have to get out of this town. My car broke down, so I'm out of options."

The man stared at Michael for a while – he seemed interested, yet not confused.

"Were you in an accident?" he asked. His tone was a weird combination of complete indifference and some kind of receptiveness.

"...yes, one of the tires got punctured."

"What's your name?"

"...Michael."

The man nodded.

"You ask for a lift while wearing a bloody jacket...and you certainly knew that I can see the blood – it's right there. So, what else happened to you?"

Michael sighed.

"I...don't know. If I did...I would still want to get the hell out of here, but I don't know. These creatures attacked me – they are not animals, they are not people, but something else. I see things that shouldn't be real – and I have had this very same conversation with three other people, who are equally stuck in this place."

The man was quiet.

"Haven't you...seen anything unusual? Haven't you met anyone besides me?" Michael asked.

"No, I have not. I thought there is no one in this town anymore – thought it's just abandoned."

"So did I, until I saw you driving through it. I couldn't reach you back then."

The man stared at the lake, seemingly realizing something. He examined the camera for a while until continuing:

"I'm sorry, Michael, but I can't help you."

Michael processed this for two seconds. Then, he responded with a very tired and impatient tone:

"Why?"

"I'm not done here – and I won't leave until I'm done. Lots of pictures to take."

Michael stared at him hopelessly. As his last option was taken away, he decided to create another:

"I'm sorry, but I need your car. Right now."

Michael pulled out the revolver. He wasn't ready to hurt a fellow human, but perhaps threatening would be enough. Unfortunately, the man didn't even flinch – he just opened his coat and revealed a black handgun.

"I need my car too" he said. Some slow seconds passed, until Michael turned around and started backtracking to the park's entrance. He was confused – given the circumstances, he wasn't acting nearly as desperately as he should have been.

* * *

Michael returned to _Nathan Avenue_ – his only remaining plan was visiting the hospital. He turned right and kept walking until reaching a crossroads. He passed a worn gas station (with another deceitful _OPEN_ -sign) and took left, arriving on _Carroll Street_. There were some residential buildings on right side of the road, while left side had nothing but tall pine trees, bushes and fences.

Eventually a large, gray building appeared, with small set of stairs leading to its front door – above said door was title _Brookhaven Hospital._ All the building's windows were just black rectangles; as if they had been boarded shut from the inside. Michael checked the door – it wasn't locked. He turned on the flashlight and stepped inside.


	10. Trinity

Michael was standing in a pitch-black, narrow corridor. Its walls were coloured with bleak shades of gray and green; floor was covered with black and yellow tiles. There was an unnerving smell in the air – something stale mixed with scent of chlorine. Right in front of Michael was some sort of reception: a small room with worn computer, shelves filled with books and medicine plus a locked door. Michael looked around for a while, until spotting a folded paper in the bookshelf. Turned out it was the hospital's map: three floors with somewhat identical layout. Michael didn't really know what he was looking for, yet he had some distant ideas.

There were several doors along the rectangular corridor, yet most of them were locked. However, one of them did open – it led to a small room with wooden table, two chairs around it plus a large ornamental plant in the corner. In general, the whole place seemed meaningless, until Michael spotted a red object left on the table – another cassette; this time nothing was written on its label. Michael took out the player and set the cartridge inside. A man started talking – his voice was somewhat familiar:

" _I am sorry. She is gone._ "

Short pause – then, the man continued:

" _There was nothing left to do._ "

The recorder clicked and went quiet. Eventually, someone asked:

" _So how is she?_ "

This voice too was familiar to Michael. So was the next one, as it was his own:

" _...not well. She just walks around without...I don't know. Sometimes she just sits down and...stares at the wall like a..._ "

" _The medicine is strong. It can cause such behaviour, but she will make it_ " the man said.

" _And how are you doing?_ " he continued.

" _I...couldn't be doing well? Last week, when I woke up, she wasn't there...she was looking through the window. I don't know how long she had been there, just..._ "

" _Mr. Kane, I'm sorry. It takes time..._ "

No more words; Michael heard nothing but faint crackling. The tape kept running for a minute or so until Michael turned the player off. He swiped his eyes and stared at the floor, thinking about nothing. His phone rang; name _Beth_ was written on the screen – despite the fact that Michael's contact list was empty. He answered, since he had no idea what he was supposed to do.

" _Mike, I'm in the hospital. I saw her, but she ran off..._ "

"...I'm here" Michael said bluntly.

" _You...are in the hospital too? I...thought you wouldn't come..._ "

"Where are you?" Michael asked, yet got no answer – caller disconnected. Even if Beth was alive – as absurd as that would have been – Michael wasn't sure about wanting to meet her. He stood up slowly, returned the cassette on the table and left the room.

* * *

Michael wandered along the dark corridors, checking every door he found. Eventually he entered a lounge, presumably used by doctors. There were some armchairs set around a glass table in the middle of the room, with documents and papers piled everywhere (even on the floor). A small wooden table was standing in the corner, filled with colourful office supplies and a small ornamental model of Christmas tree. Michael inspected the glass table and picked up a faintly yellow document sheet. Some text was written on it:

 _Patient: Lorentz, Jessica_

 _Age: 23_

 _Last piece of shrapnel was removed over two months ago. I am getting worried about the sensations of pain Miss Lorentz is still experiencing – according to her own phrasing, she feels "ache and sudden, sharp pain; sometimes even burning". This is due to the state of her cranial nerves: damage to the ophthalmic and zygomaticotemporal branches is extensive (to my amazement, one fragment went deep enough to cut temporal fascia, yet it didn't harm muscle tissue). Right eye, with corresponding malar bone, got practically cut in half. Considering the nature of her pain (both localized and delocalized), it is interesting how it activated only after removing the shrapnel. According to the paramedics, Lorentz was walking on two feet as they arrived, seemingly unable to even realize she was injured._

Michael tried to think, which had become somewhat difficult and seemingly useless. He felt sorry for Jess – and almost happy for being able to help her. Michael left the document alone and inspected a small fridge on his left. Some colourful post-it notes were slapped on it, mostly containing comments about proper lounge etiquette. Since the fridge itself was empty, Michael picked up one of the notes – a red square with weird text:

 _all above the room of sleep_

 _the dreamless rest_

 _only ideas remain_

 _only fundamental order_

 _below nothing_

Michael had no time for cryptic references, so he returned the note on the door and left the room. He continued checking doors, until finding another unlocked one: Michael entered a cafeteria. It was a rather large room with two rectangular pillars controlling the space. Some dusty, orange tables and chairs were standing here and there, yet most of the furniture was stacked in the corners, forming tidy piles.

Michael walked around a counter with several glass-covered displays – all of them empty. Behind the counter, there was a tall door left partially open; a warm ray of orange light squeezed through it. So did Michael, and thus he arrived in a kitchen. Only one of the ceiling lamps was working (the one right above the door), so most of the kitchen was left in shadows. A wall divided the room into two parts: a storage section with shelves, and another area with several metal-covered tables for preparing food. Michael took a look at the shelves first, but found no use for canned food and moldy vegetables.

Michael started inspecting the other half. There was an oven placed in the very corner of the room, and for whatever reason, it was stained by something dark and gritty – like mud. In the middle of the room was a long table with kitchen knives hanging above it. On the table, there were several metallic kettles left in disorder, yet their appearance was confusing: some of them had very small diameter, yet absurd length – Michael realized his whole forearm could have fit inside them.

Among the knives, a smaller object was left hanging from the stand – a silver key. It had text _Stairwell_ embedded on it, which seemed to be what Michael was supposed to find. He left the kitchen, and returned to the corridor. There was a door leading to stairs at the opposite end of the hallway – indeed, the silver key fit in the lock. However, the building had four floors, so Michael had to make a choice. Even though Michael hadn't understood the note on the fridge, it seemed to be his only lead: there was, presumably, something important downstairs. Therefore, he started descending.

The cellar contained a short corridor with some (locked) storages. At the opposite end, there was an elevator, which easily caught Michael's attention: word _DOWN_ was written on the doors with orange spray paint. Michael got worried, yet followed the obvious guidance: he pressed the call button, and stepped inside. Weirdly enough, there was only one button on the interior panel, which had no symbol written on it. Michael pushed it; doors closed and the elevator started moving downwards.

Michael's phone rang – he answered, but heard only static noise. His head was aching; air became warm. The elevator stopped, started moving, and stopped once more – only to start moving again. Eventually the doors opened; muddy water pushed itself inside, covering the floor. Michael stared at the dark space in front of him, realizing that he was still holding the phone against his ear.

* * *

Michael stepped in the corridor – it was as dark as before, but other things had changed: water, mud and dried leaves had appeared everywhere. Walls were dirty and broken; eaten by moisture. In the ceiling, roots of trees were slithering; small insects hovered around Michael's flashlight. Michael did remember the apartment building and most of his experiences there – it seemed something similar was happening. He returned to the staircase, and ascended to the first floor – its door was locked. Michael sighed, rubbed his forehead and proceeded to the second floor, which was accessible. He entered, took a step along the water-covered corridor, then another – that's when he froze in place. His flashlight's beam hit the walls, yet something was wrong: walls were _bumpy_ and _uneven_ somehow.

Michael welcomed a mild shock, as he realized what he was looking at: walls were covered by insects. Large, mosquito-like creatures created dense blankets around him. Every now and then a single bug flew across the corridor, but otherwise they remained still – as if they were waiting for something. Michael backtracked to the staircase's door, yet it wouldn't open anymore. It did give in couple of inches, but something was jamming it from the other side. Two types of panic fought against each other, as Michael tried to push the door open without upsetting his environment.

Michael gave up and started looking for other ways out. The closest door was, of course, locked. However, there was a small keypad next to it, so entering seemed to require a pass code. Michael turned left from a crossroads and started walking along the corridor, wondering why the bugs still didn't care about him. He checked couple of doors, and entered a narrow locker room. To his relief, there were no mosquitoes inside – just two rows of lockers and a wooden table. One locker was left open, yet it seemed to contain nothing but useless junk.

Among said junk was a photograph of three smiling women. The picture itself had no importance to Michael, yet some text was written on the backside, with a drawing of heart next to it:

 _Liz,_

 _guy in 6 can't even move_

 _you can do whatever you want_

 _code is 1520_

Michael realized that the code could have been for the locked door. He stepped back into the bug-filled corridor, moving as slowly as possible. As he got close to the crossroads, a sound emerged – footsteps and faint splashes of water. Michael stopped moving, as a small humanoid walked in front of him. It had gray, pale skin and thin limbs – in many ways, it resembled a child. However, it had no hands: instead, both of its forearms had deformed into needle-esque claws, with slightly curved tips. Creature's head was covered with shiny, strikingly green piece of plastic; it was stretched tightly over its face, ears and forehead, leaving only chin visible.

Michael stared at the humanoid, as it pressed its face and claws on the wall, and started rubbing it with extremely lazy movements – as if it was too cold to move faster. Michael stepped backwards, about to realize what was going to happen: he glared at the mosquitoes while preparing to run. Suddenly, the humanoid turned at him without making a sound. It started walking, wobbling its head from side to side. Michael raised his gun, as the creature swung one of its claws and hit the revolver. Michael pulled the trigger; bullet carved a red groove on the green plastic. Second bullet punctured the head; the creature fell on its back.

Michael held his ringing ear, as a mosquito landed on the bloody wound – and started drinking. Now the preparations for running really paid off: Michael made his frantic way to the locked door, as hellish, organic whining filled the hallway. Walls shifted, as every mosquito flew towards the fresh cadaver. A few of them surrounded Michael, who was operating the keypad while flailing his other arm. The lock opened; Michael threw himself behind the door and slammed it shut – squeezing few bugs in the process.

Michael fell on his knees, coughing violently. Disgusting smell entered his nose – it felt too familiar. He stood up and stared at the dark linear hallway in front of him. It was covered in black, shiny plastic – just like in the apartment building. Only one door was left without wrapping: that of another staircase. Michael entered and tried reaching the cellar this way – yet a piece of mesh fence prevented his progress. He checked the closest door (that of first floor patient wing) which wasn't locked. The area behind it resembled the second floor: just a one long hallway with many doors along it. However, there were no mosquitoes nor plastic.

A distant light source was shining in the southern end – highly unusual, so Michael approached it. He arrived at a large, yellow door, with two opaque windows. White light pushed itself through them, and revealed someone moving in the room. Michael opened the door, prepared to use his gun. A middle-aged man was standing in front of a desk, holding a book in his hands.

"Michael..." Brian said. He seemed a bit surprised, yet his voice was tired – actually, this could have been said about his whole appearance.

"We meet for the third time...how come you are here?"

Brian hadn't lost the precision of his speech – in contrast to his looks, it felt like an act.

"Someone...called me, and I followed them. Or at least I followed _something_...but there is no one here. And if I had to guess..."

Michael took a short pause until finishing:

"...did you follow someone too?"

Brian put the book down.

"Makes me miss work" he said, and continued with his answer:

"I did, actually – not that it really matters. This place is...in bad shape. Your shoes are wet, so you were upstairs, right? You saw those things – those kids? They are rotten...their bodies break like mud. No idea how many I killed – ten? Maybe more."

Michael got a bit worried, as Brian's tone had changed: it was notably more frantic and careless. He sat on the closest chair and rubbed his forehead. Michael realized something, so he asked:

"Who did you lose?"

Brian stared at a bookshelf next to the table – his head was slightly tilted. Eventually he turned towards Michael for answering:

"...Marcus and Leo. My sons."

Michael said nothing – however, now everything made much more sense to him. It wasn't reassuring at all, but better than complete ambiguity. Michael pulled out his wallet.

"I found this from the diner...is it yours?" Michael asked while showing the photograph to Brian.

"...yes, that's...Leo. But I don't need the picture...so I threw it away. I don't need it."

Brian's tone was puzzling – for whatever reason, the photo seemed to distress him. Michael placed it back inside the wallet.

"What about you, Michael?"

No response – still, Brian wouldn't give up:

"Your wife?"

Michael nodded. Brian continued:

"Missing someone is...elusive? Am I right? Human can adjust to anything...even losing someone they really care about. One can overcome even such experience."

"Did you?" Michael asked – had the situation been different, there would have been spite in his tone.

"I did...but I never gave up hope. Had I done so, I would have never found Leo. Once I find Marcus, we can finally leave."

Brian's sight was moving around the walls, while Michael stared at him in confusion. Eventually he asked:

"...wait, you found your son?"

"Yes, I found Leo. But I don't know where Marcus is...he must be getting hungry."

Michael didn't know what to say – based on his and Jessica's experiences, Brian was going through something very similar. Because of this, Michael couldn't regard his words really trustworthy.

"...Brian, I have to do something. I hope you find Marcus."

Brian nodded. As Michael opened the door, he said:

"I'm sorry about your wife."

Michael said nothing – he closed the door and returned to the hallway, whose darkness felt weird for a moment. Michael sighed and checked some of the patient room doors. One of them was left unlocked – behind it was nothing but a large, empty room. Michael walked across it, staring at the small circular holes in the walls – their mouths were surrounded by metallic rings. Suddenly, he heard a bright sound – apparently, he had kicked a small object left on the floor. Turned out it was another silver key, this time with imprint _3F_. Michael accepted the guidance and returned to the staircase. He ascended to a door with symbol _3F_ written on it. Using strong deduction, Michael was able to unlock the door with the key, and enter the third floor patient wing.

Another long, pitch-black corridor with even more doors this time. Michael tried out some door handles, and entered a small patient room. Ceiling lamp was functional; its white shine created an unnerving atmosphere. There was a bed (with filthy mattress) and a small nightstand with some colourful objects left on it – _crayons_. It seemed they were recently used, as the wall on Michael's left had some rather crude pictures drawn on it: some kind of dog-related creature, palm trees (presumably) and a snowy mountain (maybe). Michael turned around, and noticed another drawing next to the door: two black, vertical lines, plus blue colouring at their lower ends – _a well_ , perhaps? Some yellow stars and moon were drawn above it, yet Michael had no idea about the meaning of such pictures. As the room contained nothing useful, he returned to the corridor.

Michael proceeded to the far end of the hallway, and entered the very last room. He got startled, as he spotted someone sitting on the floor, next to another filthy bed – it was Jessica. Her arms were wrapped around her legs, as if she was trying to hide. Numerous small, white candles were stacked next to the walls – most of them lighted. Tiny fluttering flames created warm, orange glow, and filled the air with a heavy, sweet scent. Michael took a step towards Jessica – he heard a sound, which was quite impossible to describe.

Michael stared at the walls, utterly confused: they were filled with smooth, needle-esque protrusions, with length varying from a few to twenty centimeters. Original wall wasn't visible anymore; there had to be thousands of needles packed densely together. They swung around slowly, like a bed of reeds, pointing towards Jessica. Flames of the candles got brighter; some of them coughed black smoke – it carried painful, burning smell.

"Don't...move the candles...don't move..." Jess uttered. Her voice was filled with tension; her eyes were reddish.

"Jess, you...you are in pain?" Michael asked, and regretted such question in the next moment. The needles turned around, as if faint wind was moving them.

"You have pills?" Jess asked.

"I'm sorry...but this is a hospital, right? Shouldn't be too hard to find them."

Michael heard the sound again – needles got pulled back into the walls. His shocked sight followed them, as they took the form of dirty glazed tiles.

"Jess...I think there's a pharmacy in the first floor. The door was locked, but I'll try to get in there."

Jess said nothing – and Michael didn't know what to say. Eventually, he continued:

"Just wait for me, okay? I'll be back soon."

Jess nodded; the walls pulsated by pushing out short needles and pulling them instantly back. Michael turned around slowly, took another look at Jessica's collapsed figure, and left the room.

Michael stood in the dark hallway, realizing what the town was doing to him – and Jess and Brian as well. He returned to the middle point of the corridor, looking for the staircase's door – it wasn't there; nothing but a concrete wall. Michael looked around, wondering if his memories had become completely useless. There was an elevator next to him, yet it didn't work at all. Michael walked to the hallway's opposite end, running into a large padlocked door – rather crude method of preventing access. The bulky lock was gray, yet something was imprinted on it in beautiful golden cursive:

 _Day room_

Michael did get interested, yet without a key he couldn't do more than that. He turned towards another similar (and open) door, and entered the other half of the third floor. According to logic, there should have been another access to a staircase, yet there wasn't. However, Michael found another elevator – the same one which he had used once before. And just like before, its control panel contained only one button. Michael pushed it rather reluctantly.

Michael's phone rang – he answered, but heard only static noise. His head started aching again; air became warm. The elevator stopped, started moving, and stopped once more – only to start moving again. Eventually the doors opened; muddy water pushed itself inside, covering the floor. Michael stared at the dark space in front of him, realizing that he was still holding the phone against his ear.


	11. Fireworm

Michael entered a large, filthy room: its floor was covered in water; roots of trees were hanging from the ceiling. Damp yet stingy smell lingered in the air. On the opposite wall, there was a large, rusty door. Two star-shaped lamps were placed on its sides, emitting orange glow – there were no other light sources in the room.

There were three gurneys on Michael's right, and another three gurneys on his left, all placed symmetrically in precise order against the walls. On four of the gurneys, cadavers were resting with their face towards the ceiling. However, all of the bodies were covered by white blankets – moisture pressed them against their skin, forming blank imitations of the deceased. White pieces of paper were attached to the frameworks – they seemed to contain information about the dead people. Michael kept the gun ready – in light of his recent experiences, he wasn't too keen on inspecting cadavers. The first two gurneys were empty, so he walked straight to the third one:

 _Male, 27_

 _Cause : explosion (industrial boiler)_

Michael stared at the body for a while until realizing something. He got confused, as it seemed that all the corpses were physically similar – surely there should have been some notable differences, despite the white sheets. Michael thought about moving the blanket, yet his instincts overcame his curiosity. He proceeded to the next cadaver:

 _Male, 11_

 _Cause : starvation_

Third corpse:

 _Male, 11_

 _Cause : starvation_

And the last one:

 _Female, 24_

 _Cause : loss of blood (suicide)_

Michael stared at the body for a while until walking next to it – he stretched his arm, yet suddenly turned around and walked to the rusty door. Michael turned it open, and entered a much smaller room. It was made out of uneven, gray concrete, and contained no furniture. There was some kind of light source in the ceiling – a spherical, glass-made dome inserted halfway inside the concrete, emitting orange light. Michael stared at the dome in confusion, as it seemed that something was stuffed inside it – a skin-coloured mass was moving within the glass, wriggling like a maggot. Small needle-like structures surrounded the dome, sticking seamlessly out of the ceiling.

"...I don't know what that is, so..."

Just now Michael noticed a man in the corner, left in the strong shadow – it was Brian.

"...so don't ask."

Brian was sitting on the floor, leaning against closest wall. He seemed utterly tired.

"Brian, listen...have you met a young woman here? Her name is Jessica."

"...no, I have not."

"She's in the third floor, and...she is not doing well. I took that you were a doctor, so –"

"Just shut the fuck up" Brian said. Michael kept staring at his grim, hopeless expression. Eventually, he decided to be rather blunt:

"Brian, there's no one here. My wife isn't here, and...your sons –"

"But I found them!" Brian uttered. He burst into tears.

"I found them, Michael!" he yelled while losing every bit of control – his voice formed a hopeless roar:

"I found them! All rotten! All dead!"

Michael gazed at Brian, unable to response. All he could do was watch as the crying man turned around, towards the dark corner. Michael was about to say something, yet he said nothing – realizing that Brian was beyond his help. He was about to leave, as he took one more look at the dome: now it was empty. Michael disregarded the glass ball and stepped outside; his head started aching. He returned to the large room and almost fell on his knees; air smelled disgusting. It seemed that trunks of trees were pushing through the walls.

Michael started walking towards the elevator – he saw several mosquitoes flying around the ceiling. Next to the elevator, there was a shape of human, standing against the wall – it resembled a child, yet its body was completely black; like soil deep inside the ground. It had no face – nothing but a horizontal, wide and red slit above the chin. Its forearms formed hook-like appendages, with slightly curved tips.

Michael stepped backwards, as the creature turned around and started approaching him. He shot it twice in the head; it fell over, yet leaped back on two feet. It swung one of its hooks with surprising agility, puncturing Michael's jacket. The wet, rotten essence of the humanoid filled Michael with adrenaline; he kicked it down and ran to the elevator. Michael stormed inside and pressed the single button on the panel – he started moving upwards. Now that Michael had chance to catch his breath, he noticed an object taped above the button – a small, golden key. He picked it up, already with an idea for its usage.

* * *

Doors opened.

Michael stepped back into the third floor, yet it had changed: the corridors were bordered by burning candles. They were placed next to the walls in more or less chaotic clusters; air was thick and hard to breathe; warm, orange glow pulsated along the hallways. Michael took a step; several branches of needles emerged from the walls, aimed towards him. He moved extremely slow, avoiding getting punctured and set on fire.

Michael entered the patient wing, and took a look along the linear hallway. At its mouth, every surface morphed into extremely thin and long needles; they formed a dense, chaotic mass without any traits of symmetry, completely blocking the hallway. The sight was incomprehensible; Michael was forced to look away as he felt extremely uneasy. He decided to concentrate on the padlocked door.

Indeed, the golden key fit in the lock – shackle opened, and so did the door. Michael stepped inside a large, lightless hall, which contained no needles – nor any other illogical elements. Four rectangular pillars controlled the space; some chairs and tables were stacked against the opposite wall, and covered with white, dusty blankets. There were several pitch-black windows above these piles of furniture; it seemed to be dark outside.

Michael listened to the faint echoes of his own footsteps as he progressed to the middle of the hall – and found nothing; the place was just empty. Michael looked around for a while, until he spotted a dirty, white object on the floor – another patient record. It contained a short, highly informal text:

 _it hurts every_

 _movement hurts_

 _send waves of ache from_

 _ear eye radiates_

 _radiates every cant_

 _move im stuck_

 _stuck_

 _stuck cant breathe_

Michael shivered – he dropped the paper. A spark emerged; a single flash of orange light in the darkness. It formed fire; a bed of flames about two meters above the floor. Michael turned around, towards a burning creature – it wasn't moving, so he had a few seconds to wonder what he was actually looking at: this thing was like a worm risen on the rear end of its body. Said body was seemingly made out of opaque plastic – it was actually a twisted cylindrical tube, filled with skin-coloured matter. Two pale legs stuck out of the tube's end, resting on the floor.

The creature had no face – the other end of the plastic was mostly sealed. However, there was a diagonal cut in the wrapping, revealing the tissue inside. Organic matter twitched and rubbed itself against the sharp edges of the cut, causing several lacerations. Two thin, pale arms sticked out of the tube's sides, wrapped tightly around its body. On top of its "head" was the bed of flames, turning plastic into brown liquid – yet the fire wouldn't spread further.

Michael was staring at this thing in almost complete silence – nothing but the faint humming of the fire could be heard. The flames' pulsating glow danced around, creating smooth yet strong shadows. Eventually the creature started moving, dragging its clumsy body and sweeping the floor with its legs. Without making a sound, it placed one of its arms against the floor – a branch of needles slithered towards Michael; he jumped out of the way and watched as the deformation climbed along one of the pillars.

Michael raised his gun and shot the creature twice; bullets drilled bloody holes through the plastic and tissue. Creature fell down; one of its arms got crushed under its own weight. It let out a sound; a weak, whining expression, and swept the floor with its remaining arm. Two chaotic patterns of needles emanated towards Michael, yet suddenly they curved past him. Few needles punctured the creature's own body; it screamed as the deformations got sucked in the floor through its own flesh. The flames became brighter and started spreading; their glow was unnatural. Soon the whole creature was engulfed by fire – it moved lazily around, fighting against its own existence. Eventually it gave up and fell on the floor, still rubbing itself with its arms.

Michael stared at the flames; at their deep, orange colours. Despite the fire, he felt cold. Time passed slowly; Michael felt exhausted. He sat on the floor and leaned against the closest wall. Gradually the fire disappeared, until there was nothing left but darkness.

* * *

Michael shivered.

He opened his eyes and looked around – dim light passed through the windows; the creature was gone. Tables and chairs were stacked against the opposite wall, and covered by white, dusty blankets. Michael stood up, almost falling down again – he felt tired, which resulted in strong visions of coffee. It seemed there was nothing left to do in the hall, so Michael returned to the patient wing's corridor. It seemed completely normal: no more needles, candles, water nor black plastic.

Michael walked along the hallway to the very last patient room – its door was left open; there was no one inside. Fog-filtered light entered the room through a window, creating a sleepy atmosphere. Michael had no idea where Jess had gone, but he did remember his promise to her. Therefore, he backtracked to the staircase and descended to the first floor. He proceeded to the pharmacy – surprisingly, its door wasn't locked anymore; it was actually partially open.

Michael entered a small room with two shelves on its both sides. Their contents were thrown all over the room; white bottles and colourful tablets were spilled across the floor. In the middle was Jessica, lying on her side – with pale skin, glazed eye and mouth filled with vomit.


	12. North

Michael was sitting in front of the hospital's doors, staring at the snowflakes falling through icy fog. He had no idea what to do anymore, so he waited – waited for Beth to call again. Minutes passed, until an hour passed as well. Then, Michael's phone started ringing. He answered without hesitation.

"Beth?"

" _...Mike? Where are you?_ "

"At the hospital. I couldn't find you, so –"

" _No, it's...you are at a hospital? On the...wait, southern side of the lake?_ "

"...I think so, yeah."

" _Well, I'm on the opposite side then. There's an amusement park nearby, and all sorts of...recreational businesses, I suppose._ "

"Wait there, just wait for me. I'll come to you, okay?"

" _…_ "

"Beth?"

" _Yeah, of course. See you soon, love._ "

Michael smiled – the violent chaos around him didn't matter, as he had only one goal now. Michael inspected the map, and found a rather straightforward route to the northern shore: he would follow _Nathan Avenue_ until reaching _Sandford Street_. It seemed like a long walk, yet luckily Michael had nothing but time. He stood up, loaded the gun and started moving.

Michael passed the gas station once again. On the other side of the street, there was a bowling alley _– Pete's Bowl-O-Rama._ Michael had never enjoyed bowling, while Beth had some kind of natural talent for it. After the bowling alley, buildings mostly disappeared – only trees, bushes and billboards surrounded the road. Some of the billboards were covered by white, worn tarpaulins – there were smooth cuts on them, which Michael regarded as vandalism.

Michael walked by a rather ugly, greenish building with heavily decorated door. Some vehicles were parked in the area, so maybe this was another little shop. Soon a bridge appeared, just like map had predicted. Two bikes were left leaning against the railing, yet there was nothing else of interest. Michael could hear extremely faint noises of water rubbing against the river benches, but otherwise his surroundings were quiet.

Michael reached a crossroads and took right – he started following _Sandford Street,_ and passed a couple of snow-covered (and naturally abandoned) buildings. Other than that, he was surrounded by a forest and the steep lakeshore – at least the sights were impressive, as Michael felt like walking on the edge of a massive void. Eventually, a large shape appeared on his right, taking gradually more and more precise appearance. It was a three-storey building – or rather a snow-covered _husk_ of one: windows were missing, outer walls were blackened and roof was partially collapsed. Michael assumed that the damage was caused by fire – it was a shame, since the architecture and the elegant front yard were really impressive. According to the map, the building used to be a hotel – quite logical, since this explained its size.

Some ornamental trees appeared on Michael's left, accompanied by distant brick walls. Colourful pavement led to a wide steel gate – by the looks of things, this had to be the amusement park. Some benches were placed on both sides of the pavement; a blurry character was sitting on one of them. Michael felt unfamiliar excitement, which didn't last long – turned out the Barber was resting on the bench, rubbing his hands together and looking around nervously.

"You fell in the pit..." Michael started. He wasn't pleased, as Barber was the last person he could trust. Barber stared at him, recognizing him immediately (which was a bit surprising).

"I did...but I got out. It wasn't that deep, Michael. It was..."

Barber's voice was tense; his eyes were reddish.

"What happened to you?" Michael asked. Barber took a quick glance at him.

"I saw him...and he saw me. Very soon he comes back."

"You saw...what exactly? Some kind of...monster?"

"Yes; a monster...he can fly. But he hates light."

Michael realized that he still couldn't take Barber's speech seriously – not even after his own experiences. He decided to open up:

"I was at the hospital. I saw...these creatures too; even killed some of them. And still all this feels like a bad dream."

Barber rubbed his hair.

"Maybe you will see it, once night falls" Barber said. Michael thought about this for a moment: by the insane logic of his situation, something bad would happen after a quiet period. At least this time he got a warning beforehand.

"I met this woman at the hospital...Jess. She had been in an accident, so she was dependent on medication. I think...I think I saw what she felt. This town did it...whatever that really means. I saw her pain."

"Jess..." Barber repeated.

"You know her?"

Barber shook his head with puzzled expression on his face.

"I don't know much about her. She just asked my help, but..."

"Is...she dead?" Barber asked. Hesitantly, Michael answered:

"Yes. She took an overdose."

"How old was she?"

"I don't...maybe 20 years."

"...I'm sorry."

Michael got confused – Barber's tone was hard to analyze. He teared up and started talking through the sorrowful tension:

"I'm sorry Michael. I can...I can talk to you, right? You know how...no matter where you go, there's nothing else. No matter what you do, nothing but the pressure. Outside, in TV, in...magazines, everywhere. Don't you agree? But...you can't touch! They don't..."

Michael stared at the mentally collapsing man, wondering if he had understood the speech. Barber became quiet; he stared at the ground while Michael considered a quiet departure from the situation. Suddenly, Barber twitched and looked upwards – towards the fog and snow.

"What is it?" Michael asked.

"It's there. Somewhere above us. I have to keep moving."

Barber stood up and walked at the gate – turned out it wasn't locked, as he disappeared on the other side. Michael was left alone, wondering what he should do – he hadn't heard nor seen anything. Barber's talk still confused him, yet he had no more time for other people's problems. As it seemed Beth wouldn't be around the amusement park, Michael continued along the _Sandford Street_.

* * *

Michael passed a road leading north – _Hawthorne Road._ Despite the interesting name, it seemed like the wrong way: tall pine trees surrounded it, so maybe the road led out of town. It didn't matter anymore, as Michael's priorities had changed. He kept walking along to the shoreline, following a thick railing. A large white building appeared on his right – turned out it was a parking hall, and the area was likely aimed for tourists and other people interested in the lake view: there were some fast food stands standing equally far away from each other; some ornamental plants were placed between them.

One part of the area was elongated further on the lake; it was a wide pier. Because of the snow and fog, Michael couldn't tell where it led to – it just disappeared in emptiness. He took couple of steps along it, staring at the still water below the railings. He did get a bit interested, so he kept walking – calm wind blew snowflakes from the white void. Eventually the pier took a sharp turn left, and led to a tall cylindrical building – a lighthouse _._ The building wasn't too pretty, as its white paint was peeling and crackling. A set of steel-made stairs led to a wooden door, right above some overgrown bushes. Michael looked around for a while and checked his phone. A bit hesitantly, he walked to the door and turned it open.

The interior did fit together with the worn looks: walls and the floor were dirty, some empty metal barrels were left next to the door. Cosmetic shortcomings aside, the building seemed to be not even functional anymore: there were no stairs inside – nothing but an empty vertical shaft (there wasn't even a lamp at the top). However, as Michael lowered his gaze, he realized that the staircase was _reversed_ : there was a smooth, cylindrical tunnel in the floor, and rusty stairs followed it downwards. Michael couldn't see the bottom of the tunnel – in general, he got the impression of extreme depth.

Michael stepped on the stairs and tried to think: was he supposed to go down? He did have another option: continuing along the streets, yet the more he thought about it, the more he realized there was only one way to proceed. For whatever reason he was still being guided, so he had to follow. Michael descended one step at a time – soon he realized, that the tunnel was horrifyingly narrow: nothing but brown concrete and darkness surrounded him, and caused mild strikes of panic. Michael forced himself to concentrate on walking and counting the steps: 51, 52, 53, and so on. Progress was made, until he reached number 160, and exited the staircase.

Michael arrived in some kind of basement – it was only a bit wider than the tunnel itself. There was a wooden door with some empty steel barrels left next to it; walls and the floor were dirty, plus a disturbing stench made breathing difficult. In addition to dirt, there were two large holes in the walls – they were circular, with a diameter of an arm's length. Michael inspected one of them with flashlight, yet he had trouble comprehending what he saw: the holes were mouths of smooth tunnels, and they were filled with something. Large, moist masses were hanging partially outside the holes; they were wet, dripping some drops of water – piles of _hair_. The tunnels were filled with wet hair, which did explain the smell. Michael had no idea what to make out of it, yet it seemed he would have to go further: turned out the wooden door wasn't locked.

Michael opened it and stepped out of the room.


	13. Night

Michael was standing in front of the lighthouse – as if he had exited the building via its basement. Now that he thought about it, the whole downward staircase and the tunnels were physically impossible, yet there was no way back: the wooden door was locked. This was confusing, since Michael did remember opening the door just a moment ago. Even more confusing was the weather: it was completely dark, as if day had shifted to night without warning. It wasn't snowing anymore, but raining instead. The lake had become nothing but a black, massive void – calm wind blew towards Michael and threw rain drops on his glasses; he got worried. It was apparent that things had taken turn for worse.

Michael pulled out the revolver and started walking along the pier. His attention was caught by a rusty metallic plate – it was bolted to two steel bars, which in turn were welded to the pier itself. A piece of white paper was attached to the plate – it was soaked by rain water. There was no text written on it, but instead, a colourful picture was imprinted in the middle. Michael stared at it, once again unable to understand what he was seeing: the picture depicted a young, beautiful woman sitting on a white couch. She was wearing a gray sweater and blue jeans – she was smiling, looking back at Michael. Her legs were crossed, yet still spreaded open, thus creating an intentionally arousing look. There was something very blatant about the picture – or rather _nothing_ blatant, as it seemed like a visual for an advertisement.

Michael left the picture alone and continued – only to find another one. It was a different woman this time, yet once again she was wearing jeans and posing for the camera. There were several such pictures along the pier, each depicting women in more or less pretentious environment. Michael did have some ideas regarding the meaning of the pictures, but he tried concentrating on his own problems – surely enough these absurdities had nothing to do with him.

Michael reached the shoreline and passed the white parking hall – and its unnatural glow: there was a neon sign attached to the hall's corner. It's monochrome, strikingly blue light created a small isolated area in the middle of darkness. Turned out the sign was shaped in the form of a short word; its letters arranged vertically:

 _T_

 _O_

 _U_

 _C_

 _H_

Michael stared at the sign, yet didn't get any wiser. He returned on the road and kept walking along _Sandford Street_. He passed another parking hall, and arrived at a short bridge. Some kind of distant light source was left there, emitting strong, red glow. Michael approached it, slowly realizing that another bulb-headed humanoid was sitting in the middle of the bridge. It tried touching the bulb with its hands, yet every attempt ended in muffled whining, as the hot glass burned its fingers. Michael had no reason to agitate the creature, so he walked slowly past it, ready to use his gun. Luckily the bridge was wide enough, and Michael made it to the other side.

There was an advertising sign next to the road, with the shape of a red arrow and a yellow plate above it: _Haerbey Inn_ , stated the plate. Michael deduced that there was a motel nearby, which did make sense – in general, the amusement park, hotels and small businesses hinted towards active tourism. Michael kept walking, inspecting his phone – still no call from Beth. He had no idea where to look for her, and worse yet, he had no idea who (or what) he was actually looking for.

Michael arrived at the motel's entrance: driveway led to a parking lot, that in turn was surrounded by the rentable rooms. It seemed only one car was parked there, which made Michael a bit curious. Indeed, a black and familiar sedan was sitting in the corner – it belonged to the photographer whom Michael had met in the park. Next to the car was room number 1; warm light exited through its window. Michael tried peeking inside, but two blue curtains made such observing impossible. His previous meeting with the stranger hadn't ended too well, so it was probably best to stay away from him. Still, Michael couldn't help noticing that the door wasn't locked. He turned it carefully open; there was no one inside. Michael decided to do some investigation, so he stepped in.

The room was rather small, yet cozy: bed, green armchair, TV on a tiny wooden table plus a large drawer. Walls had this weird colouring; a combination of green and yellow, which created quite worn and shabby look. Interestingly enough, a black briefcase was left on the bed – it was wide open. It contained some photographs, a plastic bag with some kind of metallic components (maybe for camera) and a small red notebook. Michael got puzzled: first the photographer left his car unlocked, and now this – the man's appearance didn't suggest such reckless behaviour.

Michael picked up the notebook and started inspecting it. Short pieces of text were written there with very precise and tidy handwriting:

 _Asked about the town; some kind of fire is common element in stories._

 _People don't seem to know much, or just don't want to remember._

 _Found little bits of history; some disappearings and accidents._

 _Steamboat sank in the lake in 1918._

 _Religion was clear yet unique mix; lots of deities and tales taken from others._

 _Lake was sacred area for the natives; ceremonies were carried out here._

 _Easy to see why._

 _! Check the churches and hotel._

 _Carrying a gun is a bit morbid, but it turned out to be useful._

 _Looks like the absurd stories about this place weren't just folklore._

 _Saw a distant, white light on the lake;_

 _it wasn't moving, couldn't hear any sounds._

 _Lasted for couple of seconds, then disappeared._

 _According to map, there is a small island in that direction._

Michael returned the book in the briefcase and tried to think – it seemed that the photographer was just travelling and taking notes along the way, so his experience really differed from that of Michael's. Other than the notebook, there was nothing interesting in the briefcase – the photos were just foggy pictures of the lake and some buildings.

As Michael had nothing else to do, he was about to return outside. However, there appeared to be something wrong with one of the photos: it depicted a facade of a bar – an orange banderole covered the front door, with title _Annie's Bar_ written on it. Next to said door was a window (only partially in the frame), and behind the glass was standing someone – presumably a woman, with her back turned towards the camera. She was wearing a gray sweater and olive pants with thigh pockets; her hair was dark, though details were hard to make out, thanks to the windowpane. The picture was taken in daylight, through snowy cloud of fog.

Michael spent long minutes there, staring at the woman. Eventually he stuffed the photo in his pocket and stepped outside, determined to find this bar. According to the map, _Annie's Bar_ was practically around the corner – Michael was certain this wasn't just good luck. A small recreational park appeared on his left, and it seemed like a proper shortcut: Michael passed some tidy ornamental bushes and trees; their leaves were dripping. A circular fountain was placed in the middle of the area, opposite the motel's backside. Michael slowed down as he found another neon sign – once again a vertically written word, yet this one emitted yellow light:

 _S_

 _K_

 _I_

 _N_

Michael watched as the electric yellow painted the nearby trees, highlighting every rain drop. He felt distant headache; a soft sound emerged. Michael turned around and stepped rapidly backwards: figure of a slim woman was standing in front of him. Her naked body was soaking wet and bruised – her arms were crossed, as if she was freezing. Her face couldn't be seen, as her head was covered by a crude metallic helmet. It was rusty, filled with dents and wounds, and had the shape of a circular cone.

Michael had pointed the gun towards this figure, yet it turned out such measure wasn't necessary: the woman turned around, walked meekly to a bench and sat down – rubbing slowly her shoulders. Michael stared at her; a naked woman walking in rainy night with metal helmet, reflecting the strong yellow glow of the neon sign. The situation was nonsensical to say the least, but Michael couldn't get too distracted: whatever was going on, finding Beth was his priority. Michael kept walking, until he exited the park. He took couple of steps north and arrived at the bar – its window was black; clearly there was no one inside. However, the door was left open. Michael took another glance at the picture – he didn't know what to think. Beth wasn't alive, this was certain. Even so, Michael had nothing left to lose, so he entered the bar.

* * *

Michael's flashlight swept over a bar counter, several colourful bottles, an ashtray and some leather-covered stools. There was a larger room on the right – it contained four pool tables, with the billiard balls gathered in the middle of each table. Some cues were leaning against the walls, yet Michael had no intentions of using them. He tried to find any kind of sign of Beth, but there was nothing unusual in the bar. Eventually, Michael entered a small back room, which was used as storage: some dusty cardboard boxes were stacked on a lonely shelf.

Michael stared at the back wall of the room – it contained a small, rectangular doorway. Behind it, a metallic staircase was spiralling downwards; just like in the lighthouse. Michael sighed and started descending, feeling already claustrophobic. The shaft was even more narrow than the previous one, yet not quite as deep: after few minutes or so Michael reached the bottom. He arrived in a tiny, dark room with some dusty boxes stacked on a lonely shelf. Michael stared at its back wall – it contained a small door. He turned it open, and entered a larger rectangular hall with dim, sleepy lighting – a small lamp was embedded in the corner, providing some visibility with its orange shine.

Michael looked around, wondering where the hell he had arrived: the room was made entirely out of gray concrete. Air was cold; it had a stale smell. There was no furniture – instead, some plastic female-shaped mannequins were stored in the corners. They were covered in dust and some spider webs; some of them were partially broken. Michael had no idea why a bar would store mannequins – clearly they hadn't been used recently.

There was a doorway in the opposite wall, which led to a long hallway. Michael stared at it for a while, since something was wrong – something about the hallway made him extremely nervous. It seemed that there were several light sources along it, emitting distant white glow. Michael approached the doorway, as he noticed an object left right in front of it – it was some kind of book. To be precise, it was a children's story book with colourful cover, depicting a yellow sun shining over a small town. Needless to say how sharp contrast the book created.

Michael's gaze travelled between the book and the hallway. Now that he got closer to it, he could see its nonsensical structure: just like the room, this hallway was made out of gray concrete. It was mostly pitch-black, yet the white light sources defined brighter spots, placed equally far away from each other. The corridor had no roof – or at least not a visible one: the walls just climbed towards darkness. Turned out there wasn't just one hallway, but _several_ : on left and right from the doorway, two more passages emerged – again with light sources along them. It seemed that every spot with lighting marked a crossroads, so Michael was entering a rectangular grid. He tried to come up with valid reasons for such construction, but failed many times in a row.

Michael took a step backwards. Slowly, he picked up the book and turned it open – its pages were rigid, as if it hadn't been read in a long time. In addition to the text, some pictures were drawn in the book, depicting people of various professions. These drawings were surprisingly good – actually, some of them were extremely precise works of art. Michael started reading, getting more confused by each word:

 _In the Riverside Town,_

 _a town where river runs,_

 _sun was always shining; the Old Yellow_

 _at night moon took her place; the Silver Fellow_

 _to whom sun was happy to lend her shine_

 _as he wasn't bright like lady sun in flames_

 _yet much better at telling bedtime tales_

 _A parade of cheerful people,_

 _happy fellows under lady sun's flames_

 _to name a few, start with The Mayor_

 _important man not afraid of hard labor_

 _to name another, we find The Smith_

 _big man with a hammer and a gallon of grit_

 _When trouble arrives, no need to worry_

 _fellows of Riverside Town will help through it_

 _in illness, ask The Doctor_

 _wise man in white coat will make you better_

 _trouble with hair, ask The Barber,_

 _man of elegance, an artist with scissors_

Michael started getting ideas regarding what was going on – at least on some level. He jumped over several pages, until he found a drawing of the barber and his client. Following paragraphs were written next to the picture:

 _It was a sunny day_

 _when lady in blue entered the salon of Barber Clippers_

 _the elegant gentleman_

 _speechless he was in front of her beauty_

" _only half shall you pay!_ " _, said Barber_

" _for not much can I do to make you any more pretty_ "

 _the lady laughed, blushed_

" _good Barber, do let me pay – full price for master and still happily I stay!_ "

 _said the lady in blue_

" _as you wish, but remember – no master without a muse_ "

 _So sat the lady on Barber's chair_

" _good Barber, I wish for somewhat shorter hair_ "

 _Barber took the scissors, ran his finger along the blade_

" _forgive me my lady but I have a request as well_ "

 _he pressed the metal against her neck_

 _through shock, horror she would beg_

" _please don't_ "

 _blades ran lower and lower until too low_

 _to breathing darkness_

 _that's where her soul fell_


	14. Hunter's maze

Michael took a step past the doorway – he entered the concrete grid of corridors. His footsteps echoed along them, which failed to make him any less nervous. Michael decided to keep moving forward in order to minimize his chances of getting lost. Soon he arrived at the first crossroads with lighting – four vertical lamps were embedded in the concrete, one in each corner, with several electric wires hanging here and there. In general, the construction seemed very shady and careless. Michael rubbed his forehead and looked in all four directions – he saw nothing but more lights and the doorway. He couldn't even see the opposite walls, as the corridors continued beyond his sight. Michael assumed that the grid was massive, so he needed to mind his position. He kept walking through silence, wondering what he was supposed to do.

Michael passed four crossroads while staring at the dark emptiness above him – it made no sense at all, since he was (at least _should_ have been) in the bar's basement. Eventually he started getting more and more disturbed – something was wrong (in addition to his illogical surroundings). He stopped in the ninth crossroads and looked around, but saw nothing – yet he noticed a difference: one of the corridors contained less lights than usually. He gazed at this puzzling phenomenon, trying to figure out the reason for it – then, without warning, rest of the lights turned back on. Michael stepped backwards, realizing what he just saw: something had blocked the view, and then moved away without making a sound.

Michael froze in place and listened carefully – yet it was quiet as ever. He continued walking, until finally reaching the opposite wall. There was a small wooden door in the middle of it, with another two corridors on its both sides. The door was locked by a rusty padlock (of course it was). Michael wondered if he could just break it, when he spotted a piece of paper taped on the wall. There was a picture drawn on it – it was a crude depiction of a square divided into smaller squares with vertical and horizontal lines. A dot was coloured in the middle of the large square's upper side. In addition, three symbols resembling letter _x_ were written on the dividing lines.

Michael realized he was looking at a map of the corridor grid. He inspected the padlock closer, noticing that it had three narrow shackles instead of just one – so presumably it required three different keys. Michael sighed and started visualizing his situation: if the _x_ -markings symbolized keys, they weren't too far away from the door – assuming the black dot was Michael's current position. He started following the wall until reaching the third crossroads. From there, he continued south (in terms of the map), until arriving at the first _x._ It was a seemingly random spot right next to another crossroads. Michael looked around until noticing a rusty piece of metal on the floor – a small key. He picked it up and proceeded towards the second _x_ , while listening to his soundless environment.

Second key was close to the opposing wall – once again it was just thrown on the floor. Michael rubbed his neck, wondering why the door was so heavily locked. He was already tired of walking, but complaining didn't help: last key was a bit further away, so he let out some quiet curses and kept moving. Every now and then he would turn around, due to a paranoid feeling of being not alone. Still, there was never anything behind him. Michael passed several crossroads; his hands were getting cold.

Michael yawned nervously – then, a distant sound emerged. Michael froze in place while still sensing the dying echo. It was blunt and metallic; like steel hitting against concrete. A minute passed, but Michael could hear nothing anymore – he took careful steps forward. Then, another sound – violent and loud, windy noise. It travelled along the corridors, cramming itself in all directions. Michael fell on his knees, looking frantically around. Soon the blowing noise ran out of energy, leaving Michael in horrified shock – he had no idea what he had just heard, yet it did motivate him: Michael decided to walk notably faster. He kept the gun ready, yet started doubting his chances of defending himself.

Michael picked up the third key, and set towards the locked door. He turned around, noticing how a corridor's lights flickered – something ran along a parallel hallway, and once again without making any sound. Michael shivered and begun striding, while trying to move as quietly as possible. He followed the wall, so that whatever was moving in the grid couldn't surprise him from behind. Then, another metallic sound – closer than last time. Michael stopped in a crossroads, trying to think: would he have time to open the lock? He stared at one of the corridors, realizing that (once again) most of its lights were gone. In front of them was a black silhouette – a tall figure with curved edges. About 10 long seconds passed, until the figure twitched – suddenly, it leaped sideways, disappearing in the grid.

Michael started running, realizing he was being hunted. He returned to the door and crammed the first key inside the lock; one shackle opened. Then another key; another shackle done – more metallic sounds emerged. Third key, and the lock dropped on the floor. Michael pulled the door open, expecting to get attacked at the very last moment – yet nothing happened. He stepped inside and closed the door, thus entering complete darkness.

* * *

Michael was standing at the top of a very narrow staircase. He descended carefully, yet he did experience a sense of relief: maybe he could get out of the grid this way. Eventually he arrived at the bottom of the stairs – there was nothing else there but a small cubical room. However, it wasn't completely empty: a blue garment was lying on the floor, covering something. Michael approached this unknown object, while a sweet, weirdly enjoyable smell hit him – a pleasant, almost mesmerizing scent. Sharp contrast was provided when Michael moved the garment: it covered a dead body. Michael stared at the pale, white leg sticking under the blue velvet, assuming it belonged to a woman.

Michael looked around, noticing a picture drawn on the back wall. It seemed to present some kind of humanoid with wings – as if watching over the dead woman. Michael stared at it, as the headache returned. Sharp pain made thinking difficult; the room started moving. Michael lost his balance and fell on the floor. His phone was ringing. Time slowed down, as Michael forced himself on two feet. He looked above, and saw the woman's body attached to the ceiling – still covered by the blue velvet. It made no sense – as if gravity had become unnaturally selective.

Michael leaned against the walls and clumsily descended back to the wooden door. He pulled it open, as a disgusting, sweet stench entered the staircase. Behind the doorway, the grid of corridors had changed: floor and walls were soft; coloured like human skin. Michael stared at the peach-esque shades, thin hair-like protrusions and blue structures resembling veins, running seemingly below the surfaces. Air was warm and heavy, filled with the revolting smell.

Michael stepped in the hallway – the floor felt like rigid, solid mass of rubber. A metallic sound emerged, which reminded Michael of his threatening situation. His only hope was returning to the grid's entrance, which was precisely in front of him – yet way too far away. As Michael had no options, he started walking, trying to get used to the stench. Even so, it made him dizzy every now and then, and forced him to lean against the walls – white, greasy stains were left on his jacket.

A howling, wind-like noise pushed through the corridor – Michael's mind was filled with visions of massive, black shape approaching him. He turned around frantically, until a narrow pillar of extremely bright light appeared – it pushed through the vertical darkness and swept across the hallway. Michael started running, and turned right from the next crossroads. He felt sudden streak of panic, as a black figure flew right above him. It landed on the corridor, creating a series of lazy, fluttering sounds. Michael raised his gun and pulled the trigger several times; a cloud of black feathers was thrown in the air. The figure rose back on it wings and disappeared behind a turn, leaving shock-ridden Michael behind.

Michael threw his panicking gaze all around the hallways, barely noticing the bullet holes in one of the walls – they were seeping red liquid. He filled the revolver's chamber and kept running, well aware of the creature being close by. The bright pillar appeared again and focused on Michael – he threw himself on the ground, as the black figure flew right above him, and disappeared in the darkness. Michael pulled himself up and kept moving, passing two humanoids – naked women wearing cone-shaped helmets. One of them was sitting on the floor, other one was standing perfectly still, doing nothing. Michael turned left – his environmental awareness was panicking; he had to find the middle corridor.

Bright light appeared again; the black shape flew in front of Michael. A series of fluttering sounds emerged, as it stepped in one of the crossroads, thus revealing itself: a naked humanoid with brown skin and wings; several rows of shiny, black feathers glittered in the silver glow. Its legs were contorted and notably long – they ended in pitch-black hoofs; their sharp edges were sinking in the soft floor. Its face was covered by an intricate metallic structure – a long, complex optical instrument, with length of an arm. There was a round, black lens at its tip, plus a blinding light source. This instrument was bolted to the creature's head with three leather straps and an equal amount of large steel rivets.

Michael wasted no time: he shot the creature twice, spilling bloody feathers everywhere. A smooth, bone-coloured needle pushed through its hand, forming a swift weapon. Michael fired again, this time hitting the optical construction and apparently breaking it: the creature faltered and fell down, bumping its body against the wall. Michael jumped backwards, as the creature pulled itself up and leaped in the perpendicular hallway. Michael listened: he heard very faint tapping sounds, as the hoofs drummed against the skin-like floor. He kept turning around, until the sounds disappeared – after a long minute, Michael decided to continue running. He passed several crossroads, trying to find the right corridor.

Michael stopped – the tapping reappeared. He threw himself on the ground as bone-coloured needle swung across the air. Instinctively, Michael drove his foot towards the creature's leg – adrenaline-filled kick broke the bone. As the creature lost balance, Michael got his chance: he used the remaining bullets, forcing it to back away. Deafening, wind-like sound was formed, as it rose on its wings and flew to the darkness. Michael fought his way on two feet and kept running – he could already see the grid's entrance. He passed more cone-headed women until reaching it, and entering the mannequin storage – its floor was still made out of concrete, which was supposedly a good sign. Michael started (less patiently) inspecting the door leading to the spiralling staircase – however, it was locked. Then, he heard a tired expression:

"Michael...you shouldn't be here."

Barber was sitting against the wall, next to a group of mannequins. His clothes were extremely filthy.

"We can't leave yet. It has to be over."

Michael turned his gun towards Barber.

"Key...give me the key" he uttered.

"I don't have it – if I did, you think I'd still sit here? _He_ has it."

Michael lowered the gun, breathing heavily.

"What the fuck is this? Those...posters, this place and...that _fucking_ thing..."

"It's me – for now" Barber said.

"...this is you? This is what you do?" Michael repeated. Barber stood up slowly and started talking:

"I have needs, Michael. Everything feeds them...whatever I do, the pressure just keeps getting worse. You know, right? You know how –"

"Shut the fuck up" Michael spat. He looked at the ceiling, just now noticing there _was_ no ceiling anymore – instead, a smooth bed of _hair_. Nothing but huge, even mass of brown hair, swinging gently around – the sight was revolting.

"He's here" Barber said. Michael turned around; a naked body fell through the hair and got crushed against the concrete. Next, the creature followed – it swam through the hair and glided towards Michael, yet the broken leg made it clumsy: Michael jumped sideways and fired the gun. One of the bullets broke the light source; black liquid started leaking from the optic system. The creature rubbed its head furiously, as if attempting to remove the broken gadget. It fell down in panic, and Michael stepped next to it – three bullets drilled their way inside its skull, killing it instantly.

Michael walked slowly backwards until falling down – Barber was already gone. He stared at the hair hanging above, then at the monster's corpse. He felt extremely tired; air was cold again. The body of a dead woman was lying in the corner – Michael noticed a glimmering item clutched in her hand. It was a large silver key; presumably for the locked exit. Michael picked it up and approached the door, yet dizziness forced him on his knees. Eventually he made it to the door, and returned to the small storage room. Michael closed the door behind him and sat on the floor, next to the dusty box shelf. His phone started vibrating – a short text message appeared on the screen:

 _How about Amy?_

Michael dropped the phone and closed his eyes; his head was aching. He heard a distant howling sound until falling asleep.


	15. Nowhere

Michael woke up.

He looked around, but saw only obscure, dim shapes. Flashlight wasn't in his pocket – turned out it had fallen on the floor. Once Michael finally reached it (after sweeping huge amounts of dust with his sleeve), he was able to analyze his surroundings: a small rectangular room, with nothing but one door and a shelf filled with cardboard boxes. Michael tried to remember why he was lying on the floor, yet this was difficult – he did recall the maze, though every detail was blurry.

Michael stood up slowly – his legs ached. He walked to the door in front of him, which was already rather confusing: wasn't the door on wrong side of the room? Then again, the spiralling staircase was gone too: behind the door was a dim hallway. Its floor was covered with large, white tiles; walls were gray, yet they contained green, horizontal stripes. There were several ceiling lamps, yet none of them was in use. A faint scent of chlorine lingered in the air.

Michael stepped in the hallway and looked to his left: there were two steel doors at the very end, with some kind of button panel next to them – presumably an elevator. On his right, the hallway ended in a distant light source. Turned out a door was placed there, with two windows embedded on it. Quite evidently Michael wasn't in the bar anymore, which was somewhat illogical – he had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there. The place did resemble a hospital of some sort, but that was all Michael could deduce.

Michael walked at the elevator and pressed the call button – doors wouldn't open, yet a small digital screen flashed above the panel. _Access card required,_ stated the notification. There was a narrow horizontal slot below the screen, presumably for the card. Michael sighed and chose the second option: he walked to the opposite end of the corridor and peeked through the door's windows. In front of the door, another short corridor continued forward, with another similar door at its end. However, there was a wide opening in the corridor's right side, which led to another hallway with several windows. Michael saw natural light passing through them – beautiful, warm and reddish glow; as if sun was setting outside.

Michael opened the door and turned right. He entered the wide hallway, and indeed, its left side contained a row of windows, with brown benches placed underneath them. Michael stood there, staring at the glow of falling sun – it painted the whole corridor and created sleepy shadows. He looked through the windows and saw a garden bathing in the red light – there wasn't any fog or snow outside. Some ornamental bushes were placed right below the windows; calm rain drops landed on their leaves. Michael had always enjoyed such mildly contradictory weather: faint drizzle, despite sky being mostly clear.

Michael had no idea what was going on, but he felt almost relaxed – such feeling had become quite rare. He kept walking and looking around, until arriving in a large lobby. There was a reception on his right – on his left, a large map was bolted on the wall. Its upper side stated _White Plains University Hospital –_ Michael read the name three times until accepting its message. He had been in the hospital before – that was some years ago, when Beth had gone into labor. The relaxed feeling disappeared; it was replaced by silent threat.

Michael tried to think: it did seem he wasn't in the town anymore, which was insane. Could he just leave the hospital? Not quite so, since the front door was locked. Then again, there were many windows, so Michael could have just broken one of them and climbed out. However, the place was completely empty – there should have been at least some personnel present. Therefore, two options remained: either Michael was hopelessly sick in the head, or the hospital was just like the concrete maze; something beyond his understanding. Surely a combination of these two provided an even more powerful explanation – even if it wasn't satisfying to Michael.

Michael inspected the reception's counter, noticing a small item left on it: a plastic card. There was a picture of a woman imprinted on it, with short text next to the picture:

 _Anne Reinhardt_

 _Pediatrician_

Michael took the card and set towards the elevator – he was getting worried. The card indeed opened the doors, and Michael stepped inside. On the interior panel, only one of the buttons was highlighted: that of the basement floor. The others did absolutely nothing, so Michael accepted the guidance.

The doors opened again; Michael stepped in a mostly pitch-black corridor. However, exactly one ceiling lamp was working in the middle – its silver glow created strong contrast. There was just one steel door along the hallway, with black plate next to it – word _morgue_ was engraved on the plate, which caused Michael some mild anxiety. The door was locked, though, but Michael started creating grim envisions. He walked at the end of the hallway, where it turned both right and left. The turn right led to a dead-end, weirdly enough. Turn left led to a small door with vertical window and another plate next to it, this time with the following text:

 _Stephan Drommel_

 _Pediatrics Department Director_

 _Neonatology_

Michael opened the door; he arrived at a rather small office. There was a brown carpet on the floor – it contained complex ornamental patterns. A brown couch with a small wooden table was placed on Michael's right. On his left was a wooden desk, with a computer and some documents on top of it. Behind the desk, a black chair and a bookshelf; completely filled with books about medicine. There was a single large window in front of Michael, which puzzled him greatly: sun wasn't shining anymore; it was dark outside. Michael could see distant city lights on the other side of a black void.

It remained unclear what Michael was supposed to do in the hospital – was Beth close by? Michael decided to check the computer, since it was left on. A text editor was opened on the screen, with the following entry written on it:

 _Patient: Kane, Amy_

 _Age: 1 week_

 _Strong abdominal distension was noticeable within 24 hours from birth. High feeding intolerance. Severe hypotension set in after 30 hours from birth; suspected early perforations in large intestine duo to blood in rectal discharge. Advanced 3_ _rd_ _stage necrotizing enterocolitis diagnosed 2 hours after birth._

Michael rubbed his forehead and backed away from the computer. He looked through the window for a while until sitting on the couch. Air started smelling; sweet, disgusting stench emanated from the other side of the door. Headache reappeared – Michael's hands were freezing. He stood up, took out the gun and filled its cylinder. Michael approached the door while the smell got horrifying – still, it remained somehow tolerable; it felt familiar. Michael opened the door and returned to the hallway – now covered in black, shiny plastic.

Michael turned right, on the long corridor. In the pitch-black middle of it, was standing another bulb-headed woman, caressing its horn-like appendage. A spark flashed; deeply red glow started growing, turning the hallway into a blood red midnight. The humanoid stepped towards Michael, who in turn raised his gun – he fired twice, as the creature leaped towards him. One of the bullets hit its upper body, causing it to falter: it fell and hit itself against the wall, while Michael jumped out of the way – towards the dead-end. The humanoid pressed itself against the black wrapping, twisted its body and got up. Michael couldn't comprehend what he saw: the creature stood on the wall, with its soles against the vertical surface. Michael fired again; he succeeded in breaking the light bulb. Cloud of red dust was set free and ignited; breath of red flame attached on the creature's shoulders, burning away its dark, gray skin.

Michael kept shooting until he heard a cold, clicking sound. Without thinking, he just ran and jumped past (or _under_ ) the creature, whose flames were eating the black wrapping. Michael stopped abruptly, as he noticed another such humanoid at the end of the hallway – walking in the ceiling. Michael was out of options, so he pulled open the morgue's door and slammed it behind him.

* * *

Michael fell on his knees – the sweet smell was beyond unbearable. He threw up as the painful reflex took over. After some long minutes, he was able to consider standing up – it was easier considered than done, yet nevertheless Michael pulled himself on two feet. At first it seemed he would pass out from the smell, but he managed to cling on to consciousness. He looked around, trying to examine the surroundings: apparently he had entered an extremely narrow corridor. It was made out of gray concrete, but didn't contain a visible ceiling: above Michael, there was nothing but vertical darkness, just like in the maze – however, this time it felt even deeper.

Both sides of the hallway were formed of metallic shelves – their rusty, worn structures continued upwards and disappeared in the dark. The shelves weren't empty: instead, they were filled with dead bodies, tightly wrapped in body bags. Thousands of corpses leaning against each other, stacked in piles; some of them fallen on the floor and twisted in various positions. Stale smell of the plastic got mixed with the sugary, rotten stench of human decomposition. Michael stared at the sight in pure shock, unable to move: endless vertical beds of cadavers – if they were to fall down, they would crush him instantly.

Michael pulled out the gun and loaded it with clumsy movements – his whole body was shaking. He took a step, then another – one reluctant step at a time, fighting against every natural instinct. Sometimes the smell would peak, diving into his head and activating gag reflex. Michael spat out several curses, as he passed a group of bodies lying on the floor. His understanding of time was gone – how long had he been walking? Michael stopped, and took a look behind. He turned around, trying to remember where he had come from – only two options, yet he couldn't recall. He turned around again and continued walking, almost stumbling at one of the cadavers.

Hours or minutes later, Michael heard a distant sound – like a gentle blow. He looked behind, yet saw nothing. He looked above, and saw a tiny glimmering source of light. It was deeply red, hidden far away in the darkness, twitching like candle's flame. The sound reappeared; more similar lights were born – like red stars in pitch-black night. Michael attempted walking while staring at them, which led to him falling down. One of the lights was exceptionally close to him, thus revealing their nature: a bulb-headed humanoid was walking on the bed of corpses, caressing the light bulb and burning its fingers constantly. Michael jumped on his feet and started running, as more and more lights came on above him. He saw couple humanoids falling down – a tail of blood red glow followed them, as they got crushed against the steel shelves and concrete. Michael jumped over their mangled corpses and kept running. Eventually, he saw the hallway's opposite end, with another small door – wave of hopeless relief almost made him stop, but not quite: he threw himself towards said door, and started pulling it open. One of the body bags got stuck in front of it – Michael grabbed it by the cadaver's legs and threw it aside, sensing how warmth had escaped from his fingers. In the corner of his sight, he could see hundreds of bulb-headed creatures walking downwards, some of them covered in violent red flames. Michael yanked the door open, leaped on the other side and slammed it behind him. He fell on the floor and pulled cold, clean air in his lungs. Every second was longer than the previous one, until time stopped.


	16. Interface

Michael stood up.

He felt exhausted. He stared at the morgue's door for a while until turning around, noticing that he was back in the basement's corridor. Black plastic was gone; so were the creatures. Michael had no intentions of spending any more time in the basement, so he walked to the elevator, stepped inside and pressed the first floor button. Slowly, he made his way back to the lobby – it was dark outside, but still raining: veins of water were running across the window panes. Michael sat down on one of the brown benches and listened to the rain's humming; it was actually rather enjoyable (or at least would have been if the situation was different).

On the opposite side of the lobby, a brown-red double door was left partially open. Michael looked lazily around, wondering how long he would have to keep going. He sighed, stood up and walked past the reception – something was left on the counter, in the very same spot where Michael had picked up the key card. It was a yellow cassette with an empty label sticker. Michael didn't want to hear the contents, yet he assumed there was no other choice (for whatever reason). Therefore, he took out the player and set the cartridge inside. A dialogue appeared – it was between Beth and himself:

" _...mmh? Mike?_ "

" _Sorry...tried to be quiet._ "

" _Can't you sleep?_ "

" _Think I drank too much coffee._ "

" _…_ "

" _It's fine...I'll go for a quick walk. You just wait there...and rest that cute butt of yours._ "

" _...Mike, are you worried?_ "

" _Hm? About what?_ "

" _…_ "

" _...about her?_ "

" _Yeah, and all of us...her, you and me. You think about this a lot, right? I know you have trouble falling asleep._ "

" _...of course. I don't...don't know what it's like to have a family. But I want to know._ "

" _She'll be a daddy's girl...you'll see. Once she bothers coming out._ "

" _…_ "

Nothing but static anymore. Michael removed the cassette and stared at it for a while. Eventually, he returned it on the counter and walked through the door. Behind it was another corridor, which ran past the hospital's parking lot. Michael looked through the several windows along his walk, trying to spot any signs of life outside the building – there were some cars left on the lot, but nothing else.

The corridor led to a dim, descending staircase, and Michael followed. Stairs stopped at a doorway – behind it was a large open space, whose looks puzzled Michael greatly: there were red, orange and blue chairs lined in the middle, accompanied by some rectangular pillars. Walls were divided in two: their lower halves covered in blue and white tiles, while upper halves revealed plain concrete. Some vending machines were standing here and there, emitting stark, electric glow. Large ceiling lamps were turned on, providing adequate visibility (yet they couldn't do better than that – as if they were used at low power). At the very end of the hall, there was a wide ascending staircase, divided in two by a metallic railing.

On the opposite side from the doorway, the floor collapsed – Michael walked at the edge, and saw railway tracks at the bottom. From this Michael deduced, that he had arrived in a subway station – indeed, the tracks continued through the hall and disappeared in a pitch-black tunnel. On Michael's left was the opposite mouth of said tunnel, yet it was blocked by _trees_ and other forms of vegetation– as if forest had manifested there. Small insects were circling around the plants; various colourful scents lingered in the air.

Michael inspected this phenomenon closer – there seemed to be even more trees further in the tunnel, sealing it completely. The sight surely was puzzling, yet Michael couldn't be surprised – not after what he had already seen. He turned around and started following the tracks. There was a row of cement pillars next to them, and apparently, another subway station was located on the other side. Two plastic-coated plates hanged from the ceiling, with some titles imprinted on them: _Darrington Avenue_ and _Llevellyn Street._ Michael's expression became grim, as he understood the meaning of his environment.

Bulky sound emerged – Michael turned around, and saw a figure walking behind the pillars. Turned out Barber was roaming on the tracks, making his clumsy way towards Michael.

"...God, it's...you see that? I'm no biologist, but those trees shouldn't be here...I think I saw a snake."

Barber's tone was entirely different now – actually, his whole presence had become somewhat careless. He climbed on the platform, sweeping his filthy shirt – his leather vest was gone.

"What have you done?" Michael asked abruptly. Barber looked at him, seemingly wondering how to answer such question.

"After couple of days the pressure comes back...like _wax_ filling holes, until I can't breathe. Only one way out and I'll take it. But there's time...a lot of time. All I can do now is wait."

Michael stared at the floor – Barber turned towards him.

"What about you, Michael? You too are still here, so...maybe you should ask that question from yourself."

Michael rubbed his forehead and took a couple steps around the platform. Eventually, he let out a blunt comment:

"I should kill you."

Barber kept staring at him – he sighed, but didn't react in any way Michael had expected. Long seconds passed, until he started talking:

"Hmh. You know what? I tried that once. Couldn't do it though...too scared to die. That flying sack of shit you saw? It told me to do it – more than once. Kept whispering to my ears. Sounded like...a mosquito; this high-pitched whining."

Michael took out the gun and raised it towards Barber.

"Heh. Right...so you shoot me...and then what? Will it redeem you? If you do this, it _undoes_ something? Don't be pathetic."

Barber turned around. He stared at the opposite station.

"This...what do you think this is, Michael? I deserve to die, hm? But none of this is about what I – or you – deserve. It's about what we are."

Michael pulled the trigger; bullet entered Barber's head below his left ear. Instinctively, he placed both hands on the wound while falling on the tracks. He tasted blood right before losing consciousness – red pool formed underneath him. Michael lowered the gun and turned around without even looking at the corpse. He sat on one of the orange chairs, caressing the ring on his finger. Time kept passing, until Michael had no idea how long he had been sitting there.

* * *

Michael heard a soft voice:

"You killed him."

A young boy was standing on the platform – maybe about 10 years old. He had thick brown hair, blue T-shirt and a bit too oversized jeans. Michael and the boy stared at each other in more or less mutual confusion, until a distant yell broke the situation: a man appeared from the staircase, walking frantically towards the boy – it was Brian. He kneeled in front of the kid and started talking with strong tone:

"I told you to wait, didn't I?"

The boy looked a bit ashamed. Brian glanced at Michael – his sight and presence had regained their unnerving sharpness.

"Leo, this is Michael. He is a friend. I'll talk with him for a moment...and while I'm doing so, I want you to sit on this chair and wait for a moment. Don't go anywhere, you understand?"

The boy nodded and jumped on the bench. Brian gave him a small, colourful object – some kind of toy, it seemed. Then he walked to Michael, and took a look at the rails – he saw Barber's body, yet the sight didn't phase him too much.

"That's him..." Brian said slowly.

"What happened?" he asked. Michael decided to be blunt:

"He was...a killer. I had to shoot him."

Brian went quiet – he seemed to accept the simple explanation. Or alternatively, he just didn't really care.

"You found your boy" Michael said and looked at the kid, who was inspecting a little toy robot.

"I did...thank God for that. But I still don't know where Marcus is. You haven't seen him?"

"...no, I haven't."

"I'll find him. Then we can leave."

Brian's clothes were stained; his face contained several lacerations. It seemed he had faced some personal problems as well.

"So...did you find your wife?" Brian asked. Michael leaned against the chair's back and kept staring at the row of cement pillars.

"She is dead" Michael said.

Brian went quiet. He sat on one of the neighbouring chairs and looked at Leo, smiling faintly.

"I have met many people...who had to experience loss. And more than once, I was the one bringing the news. So if you want to talk..." Brian said. Michael took the offer:

"She killed herself."

Brian changed his position, but stayed quiet.

"I remember this station" Michael added. "We took the same train after work...we would come here and walk home."

Michael took a short pause.

"Beth actually proposed me in the train. Like it was nothing; she just asked. That's how we got married."

Brian nodded. For a long time they both remained quiet – every now and then Brian looked at Leo, making sure he was still sitting on the bench.

"I am sorry, Michael...I'll tell you what I have told to others: things will get better. You don't believe me – of course not. And even so, change can't be helped. With change, the darkest moments will eventually pass."

Michael kept caressing the ring; he didn't know what to say. Brian continued:

"When I lost my boys, I thought everything was over – that nothing would ever matter anymore. Stories don't always have a happy ending, but that depends on where you place the ending, right? Let the story continue for a bit longer, no matter what."

Brian looked at Leo again – Michael remained quiet.

"Michael, I think we have to go...we still have to find Marcus. Would you like to join us? We could all leave this place together."

Michael kept staring at the cement pillars.

"...I hope you find him" he said with lifeless tone.

"I will...so, that's about it. Maybe we meet again, sometime – in happier circumstances."

Brian stood up and walked to the boy.

"Okay, Leo. Ready to go?"

Brian and the kid walked to the staircase, soon disappearing beyond Michael's sight. He kept sitting there, wondering what to do next – chasing after dead people didn't seem worthwhile anymore. Eventually a quiet idea came to his mind: he took out the photograph found from the diner, and inspected it closer – the boy in the picture didn't have brown hair, but yellow.

* * *

Michael almost fell asleep – but not quite. He decided to walk around, just to have something to do. He approached the wide staircase, yet following Brian felt like waste of time. There was a small door crammed next to the tunnel's mouth, yet it was only for maintenance – surely it would be locked. Michael checked the handle, and to his mild surprise, the door opened. He stepped into a small storage – emphasis on _small_ : tiny room containing nothing but a shelf filled with dusty boxes. There was an equally small doorway in the opposite wall, with narrow, rusty set of metallic stairs. They spiralled upwards; perhaps to another storage. Nevertheless, Michael got mildly interested, so he decided to take the stairs.

Turned out the spiral just kept going – Michael started feeling claustrophobic. The shaft was pitch-black; every metallic step echoed almost painfully across it. After 200 steps or so, he finally reached the end – another tiny storage with another box-filled shelf. Next to it, a small wooden door, which was left open. Michael got confused; he felt dizzy. Hadn't he been the room before? He leaned against the shelf as sharp headache appeared, only to disappear in the next moment. Michael stepped through the door, realizing he was back at the bar. Then again, he did feel like never leaving it – past events were once again blurry.

Michael turned around, realizing that there was no other doorway in the storage – the spiralling staircase was gone. In addition, night had suddenly turned into dawn: dim, faintly reddish light entered the bar through windows; it was raining outside. Michael walked in front of the closest window and stared at the pools of rain water. The two vehicles in the parking spot were covered by white tarpaulins.

Michael's phone vibrated – a short message appeared on the screen:

 _I found her Mike_

 _motel room 6_

 _love, B_


	17. Dawn

Michael was standing under the orange banderole – it was still foggy outside, yet an eerie, reddish glow pushed through the mist, accompanied by the faint rain. Michael tried to think: judging by the text message, it indeed seemed Beth was waiting for him in the motel. Of course, this was nonsensical – surely another inconsistency caused by the town. Still, following its guidance had led Michael so far – stopping now would have (probably) been a bad choice.

Michael started walking; he shivered as cold rain drops landed on his neck. He was about to pass a diner, yet had to stop from confusion: half of the building was covered by several white tarpaulins, wrapped tightly around it. Michael watched as veins of rain water ran on the canvas, continuing their ways on the parking lot. Weirdly enough, there was a short vertical cut in one of the sheets – red liquid seeped through it, distilled by water. Michael disregarded this phenomenon and kept moving; there was no need to waste any more time.

Michael followed the driveway to the motel's parking lot – photographer's car was gone, yet Michael had other things to pay attention to: on his left was room number 6. Michael read the text message again; he got anxious. He knew Beth wasn't waiting there, but _something_ was behind the door – something he would have to confront. Michael considered this his only remaining option, so he opened the door and stepped into the room.

* * *

Michael looked around, noticing that the interior was drastically different when compared to room number 1. There was a green sofa with black wooden table in front of it – a TV was placed on top of a drawer next to the sofa, which seemed like a less ideal position. Kitchen and bedroom were placed on Michael's right, in addition with the bathroom. Michael walked slowly around, realizing that everything was exactly like in his old apartment. His head was aching – air smelled unpleasant. The living room's ceiling lamp was on, yet the kitchen and bedroom were left in shadows.

Michael sat on the sofa, feeling sick. A small, red object was lying on the table – another C-cassette. Michael became grim – he took out the player, already somewhat aware of what he might hear. The tape began with silence – it lasted for a minute, until Michael heard a sound; as if door was opened and closed. Then, his own voice:

" _B?_ "

Footsteps and knocking – someone knocked on a door.

" _B? Hey...are you..._ "

Short pause.

" _Beth? What's..._ "

No more sounds; just quiet crackling. Michael stared at the bathroom's door – lights were turned on behind it. He stood up, as smell of cadaver filled the air. He entered the bathroom, keeping the gun ready – yet the room was empty. There was a smooth pool of blood in the bathtub, and several bloody footprints on the floor. Michael leaned against the sink, as waves of nausea hit him. Lights turned on and off several times until dying out completely. The door disappeared – blue tiles became partially broken; ceiling was leaking dirty water. All pipework in the bathroom corroded; white mold gathered on the wooden cabinet.

Michael looked at the doorway – the bloody footprints ended in front of it. Behind this doorway opened a rectangular corridor made out of gray concrete. Dim light travelled between its surfaces, entering through the corridor's opposite end. Michael started walking, dragging his tired self along the hallway. He arrived in a cylindrical room, about 10 meters in diameter. Rusty metallic stairs followed the wall and spiralled downwards. There was no roof – above, nothing but the gray sky bleeding rain drops. Despite the weather, it was rather bright in the room, as sleepy natural light passed through the clouds.

Unlike the room's walls, the floor wasn't made out of concrete – it was just wet, brown soil, with several pools of rain water and some growths of green moss. Michael saw a humanoid figure kneeled down in one of the pools – a pale character with sickly white skin and brown hair, long enough to touch its shoulders. In front of it, there was a circular, pitch-black hole in the wall. Michael stared at the figure for a long time – eventually, he started walking along the stairs, taking slow, reluctant steps.

Michael stepped on the wet soil and approached the figure – it looked like a naked woman. She was holding something in her arms – something wrapped in a white, dirty towel. With slow movements, the woman placed both of her hands in the black hole, and dropped the bundle in darkness. She grabbed the edge of the hole – for a moment, her body was shaking. Eventually she stood up, with her legs dripping russet water. She turned around and stared at Michael without any expression: her lips were blue, her eyes were cloudy – their sight carried no meaning. Michael took a step forwards, then backwards – the woman twitched, as something moved under her face, contorting the skin and facial features. A black, sharp tip punctured the cheek below her right eye. Thin whip-like appendage pulled itself out and circled in the air, spitting distilled blood on the walls.

Michael heard a cold whistle, as the organ swung above his head – in the next second, it dove smoothly through his leg, cutting straight through flesh. Hellish pain threw Michael on the ground – he cursed and shot the woman twice; both bullets drilled through her temple. Several maggots fell down from the wounds; twisting their bulky, red painted bodies. The whip got pulled back and threw Michael's blood on the soil – he let out several screams.

The tentacle circled in air again; high-pitched exploding sounds echoed between the walls. Michael fired once more – this time he aimed above the woman's waist. Three bullets punctured her body; she let out a whining, helpless sound, while caressing her bloody abdomen with her hands. Michael used the last bullet; the creature fell on its back. The tentacle twitched several times until turning numb and falling on the ground.

Michael tried to stand up, yet the wound was too painful – he leaned against the closest wall, gasping for air and looking frantically around. He dropped the gun – there was nothing but rain, wet soil and the pale corpse of that creature. Michael shivered; air smelled clean – drops of cold water on his burning forehead felt heavenly. He closed his eyes, as tears started pushing through – eventually he burst out crying. His phone was ringing again, yet it took several minutes from Michael to answer it:

" _Mike, I'm sorry. It wasn't your fault. I love you._ "

"…"

" _Mike, you there?_ "

"...yeah."

" _I'm sorry. I know what you think, but it wasn't your fault. I love you._ "

Michael dropped the phone. He looked at the black hole in the wall – something was wrong with it, since the hole seemed to get closer. Slowly, its circular mouth filled Michael's vision; he saw himself falling beneath it, in the rotten smell and swarms of flies. Time passed slowly, until this vision became weak – insects and darkness disappeared; they were replaced by white light. It was snowing again; mesmerizing scent lingered in air. Among the the snowfall was walking a woman – she disappeared in white obscurity without even noticing Michael.


	18. Over

Michael woke up.

He looked lazily around while rubbing his tired eyes – the room around him seemed familiar: a bed (on which Michael was lying), an armchair, a TV, a large cabinet and somewhat ugly walls with greenish colouring. Memories were blurry, yet Michael did recall entering the motel room number 6 – it looked like he had fallen asleep there. Instinctively, Michael placed his hand on his right leg, feeling a cold, distant pain – he remembered getting wounded by the pale creature. Still, the painful sensation disappeared in the next moment, and there wasn't any kind of visible wound. Everything did point towards a bad dream, but Michael couldn't accept such idea. He stood up, almost falling on the floor – every movement was sluggish and clumsy, as if he had been sleeping for way too long.

Michael peeked through the window – it was snowing outside. According to his phone, clock was 10 in the morning. Michael rubbed his forehead, trying to remember past events: his tire got punctured, so he walked into the town – this was quite clear. The things he had seen and confronted were much less clear; obscure and distant. Because of this, Michael realized something: his environment felt different than before. It was more _reliable_ now; more constant. He sighed and sat on the armchair, caressing the ring on his finger – whatever the town had done to him, was it finally over?

Michael kept sitting there for a while, yet he didn't want to sleep anymore. Eventually he stood up and opened the door – he smelled the cold air; bright, white light enveloped him. Michael walked around the parking lot, which was completely covered in soft, powdery snow. More and more large flakes kept falling down; Michael followed their paths and got a bit dizzy. He returned to the street and inspected the map – it seemed that _Bachman Road_ would lead to the northern part of town. It wasn't any kind of guaranteed exit, but Michael didn't care: he just needed to keep walking.

Michael passed some residential buildings and snow-covered trees until reaching a bridge – it led him over a quiet river. On the opposite side, high pine trees surrounded the road. Soon buildings reappeared, as Michael arrived at a crossroads – _Bradbury Street_ intersected his path, yet he had no intentions to change course. He kept moving forward, and passed a small shop named _Top Sales_. There were many alike buildings on his left, yet their purpose was left ambiguous.

After couple more crossroads, Michael started getting tired. He noticed a cafe on his right, hidden beneath some ornamental trees. There was a red SUV parked next to them, most of it covered in snow. Michael decided to inspect the business closer, so he walked to the front door – the cafe's red banderole was quite stylish, despite being worn out. Above said banderole, curved letters spelled the name _Cafe 5 to 2_. Turned out the door wasn't locked, so Michael stepped in – maybe he could even find some coffee.

* * *

It was dim inside; the interior was sleeping. Brown tiles covered the floor; there were several tables and equally brown benches next to the windows. In front of Michael was standing the counter, with small (and probably broken) TV placed in its left corner. On Michael's right was a colourful pinball machine, yet it seemed to be out of use. Next to the machine, some kind of yellow poster was placed on the wall – a blurry image and messy text were printed on it, yet Michael couldn't understand these visual messages.

Michael turned around and climbed over the counter – there was a coffee maker on a steel-covered table. By the looks of it, the maker was still in working condition. Good luck didn't end there: next to the maker were standing a package of coffee (not even opened) and some filters. Michael prepared a cup of coffee and warmed his hands in the hot water vapors. He kept looking around, noticing a piece of paper on the counter – turned out it was a folded pamphlet. Michael opened it; his sight jumped around some colourful photographs. One of them depicted a calm lake bathing in light of evening sun, surrounded by high cliffs. A short text was written next to the picture:

 _Welcome to Silent Hill,_

 _the cradle of forest and lake._

 _Enjoy the pristine beauty of lake Toluca_

 _and her many, equally beautiful faces._

 _Experience the charming atmosphere of Silent Hill,_

 _and its deep silence._

 _Silent Hill_ , Michael repeated in his mind. There was a familiar picture of a bowling alley in the brochure, as well as several pictures of the amusement park. Michael got confused – whoever had written the ad speech surely hadn't visited the settlement personally.

Coffee was ready. Michael filled a cup and tasted the black refreshment – it was somewhat bitter, yet really good. Michael had no idea what to do next, but it didn't really matter: for a brief moment, everything was fine. He took out his wallet and picked up a small piece of paper – the one left in his apartment's bathroom. Something was written on it, with round and extremely pretty handwriting. It was a simple statement:

 _you didn't want her_

Michael sipped his coffee. He stared at the paper for a long time until tearing it to pieces. After that, nothing remained. Michael kept drinking coffee and enjoying its scent in the cold air.

Suddenly, the door opened. Michael turned around – and smiled.


	19. Epilogue

Nathan's phone was ringing.

"Meyer."

" _Nate? Ah...I talked to Karen, so...I wanted to talk to you as well. She told me you are fine, but I..._ "

"I am fine. I just went to find new places."

" _Yeah, I get it. I'd like to do that too. The job can be draining._ "

"I bet."

" _But if you ever want to talk with someone, I can listen. I mean..._ "

"Good to know. Thanks. I'll talk to Karen once I get back."

" _Yeah, that's a better idea._ "

"It is?"

" _I just...I mean, she is much nicer than me, right? Like, if I needed someone to listen to me, I wouldn't open up to you. No sir, never._ "

"Heh, why so?"

" _That icy stare of yours...no, no, it's always best to talk to a lady._ "

"Hmh...yeah, that's true."

" _So, ah...I guess Karen asked this already, but where are you?_ "

"Somewhere north. I'm trying to find a proper map of the area."

" _Found any good sights yet?_ "

"No...everything looks the same. But I'm heading to a lake; should be a good spot."

" _Sounds nice._ _I'll leave you at it, but, ah...don't be away for too long; Karen is really fond of you._ "

"Like you?"

" _Yes, just like me. Exactly. Bye bye, Nate. Lots of hugs._ "

"Likewise."

Nathan returned the phone to his pocket. Rain calmed down; sun appeared through the clouds, only to disappear in the next moment. Soon, the rocks surrounding the road turned into a sparse forest. Nathan increased the radio's volume:

" _...this measure gives us a fascinating result. As we discussed, we have this non-empty set A, and therefore we have the interior, exterior and edge in respect to A._ "

" _And those three sets are distinct, right?_ "

" _Correct. Now, what happens here, is that the size of the exterior – which we have...right there – is zero. However, the size of the interior – what would that be? As we discussed, the sums of the cubes' volumes are finite, so the size of the interior is finite – it's just some positive number._ "

" _Yeah...so then we have the edge of A._ "

" _And that is where we will be amazed. What is the size of the edge?_ "

" _Heh...aah, I really have no idea._ "

" _Remember that the interior, exterior and edge are distinct. Their union is the entire space, and the size of the entire space is infinite – so it has to be so that the size of the edge is infinite._ "

" _...really? So...yeah, I think I see what you mean._ "

" _Note that the edge of A is very abstract. The size of the exterior is zero, so set A fills the space. On the other hand, the size of the interior – or the volume of A, so to speak – is finite. This means that the edge must be infinitely big in terms of Lebesgue measure. So this set A is something with finite volume and infinite surface area – compare it to a three-dimensional ball, for which both the volume and surface area are finite. The behaviour of A is very counterintuitive._ "

" _Can we...draw the edge of A?_ "

" _I'm not sure if anyone can even imagine its basics – drawing it is quite impossible._ "

Nathan slowed down as he spotted a small building on his right – it was somewhat ugly and shabby, to say the least. Lower half of its walls was made out of red bricks; upper half was just gray and bleak. Next to the building was a parking space, surrounded by a dark brick wall and some steep hills. The road continued through a wide mouth of a tunnel, with some directional signs hanging above it.

Nathan stopped on the parking lot and looked around. Behind the dark wall, there was a small, calm lake – some distant buildings were standing on its opposite shore. Nathan grabbed the camera, stepped out of the car and walked in front of the wall. He looked down and followed a cloud of mist lingering in the forest below – the sight was truly stunning.

Nathan removed the lens cap and started looking for an optimal angle.


End file.
